


Precipice

by makemadej (santamonicayachtclub)



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: AU in which Ryan doesn't deny his nipple fetish, Coming Out, Curly is a dick sorcerer, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Recreational Drug Use, Sagittarius malarkey, butt virginity, enlightening conversations over pho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santamonicayachtclub/pseuds/makemadej
Summary: “I don’t even know how to flirt with him,” Ryan grumbles. “We live in a world where tightening each other's harnesses and sleeping in the same bed is literally just another day at the office. How do I top that?”“Any way he'll let you,” Curly says immediately.(Or, the one where Ryan gets a nipple piercing.)
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Curly Velasquez, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 132
Kudos: 396





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea several months ago and am only just now writing it down. I was gonna say something about how life gets in the way of art, but I’m hesitant to qualify the saga of Ryan’s nipple piercing as art. Anyway, here’s to a time before social distancing when the ghoul boys were happily looking for La Llorona and no one had a clue the world was about to end :D
> 
> (the shyan is all one-sided in this chapter, but we'll get to the main event. trust.)

No one is quite sure just how Las Cruces got its name.

There's a strangeness to it, a murky sordid uncertainty. There are stories, all fittingly macabre, of everything from a mistranslation to an Apache skirmish to a hillside stuffed with dead choirboys. One particularly bloody possibility involves a massacre of at least forty Chihuahuan traders back in the 1840’s.

Curly is partial to the theory that it’s all just a typical case of Anglo-mangled Spanish. The official nickname of this place might be City of the Crosses, but grammatically it boils down to a weird mashup of _la cruz_ and _el cruce_ : the Cross and the crossing. With that kind of apprehension built right into the city’s bones, there’s bound to be some kind of spectral intersection happening here no matter what. 

Getting a text from Ryan in the middle of the night after spending the evening trying to bait La Llorona into appearing isn’t anywhere close to the most implausible thing on Curly’s list of possible ghost-hunting aftereffects. He’s got a whole arsenal of childhood ghost stories about things that follow unsuspecting meddlers home from the desert. Crossing paths with a riled-up Ryan is way more preferable than some supernatural shit that’s going to make him pee his pants.

Through sheer luck, Curly managed to snag a hotel room to himself. He’s been spending the past couple hours scrubbing off the desert, lighting a few candles, and trying to chill out and focus enough to finish _The Assimilated Cuban’s Guide to Quantum Santeria_. It's edging up on midnight and he's about to make some tea because he's still too keyed up to even think of sleep, and that’s when Ryan texts him. 

_You up?_

Even though he’s supposed to be centering himself and channeling his inner curandero, Curly texts back. 

Ryan is impossible to ignore, which is exactly how Curly ended up in Las Cruces in the first place. All it took was a grin and an invitation. Ryan really has no idea just how much power he can wield in the space of a smile.

 _Yeah, not sleepy for some reason lol_ , he replies, and follows it up with a few ghost emojis.

Right away, Ryan sends him three more texts in rapid succession.

_Ok cool_

_Question_

_You have a lot of piercings right?_

“The fuck?” Curly mutters, giving his phone a double take. 

_I’m not drunk I swear!!!_ Ryan adds helpfully.

It isn’t all that reassuring, but it startles a laugh out of Curly anyway. _Not gonna ask what’s going on in your pretty little head but yeah,_ he answers, as if Ryan doesn’t see him often enough to know the answer already.

This time, he has to wait a few minutes for Ryan to supply more context. Whatever has him wide awake and pondering piercings, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to share it. Curly is a few sips into his tea when his phone lights up again.

_Can i swing by for a minute? I have a lot on my mind and Shane’s asleep_

Curly glances down at himself. Blue boxer briefs and faded floral tee of uncertain origin. If Ryan wants to come over and gape at his septum ring, he’s going to have to deal. 

_Yes but I’m not putting pants on for this._

This doesn’t seem to give Ryan any pause whatsoever.

_Sweet lmk your room number. No pants needed ;)_

Curly isn’t sure how to interpret that. 

Five minutes later, there’s a knock at his door. 

Curly fucks with him just for the hell of it. “I didn’t order any room service,” he hollers, taking his time navigating around the scattered contents of his suitcase. Traveling light just isn’t something he does; you never know if you might need a portable diffuser or a wide-brimmed hat or extra space for spur-of-the-moment purchases.

“One Bergara special, on the house.” Ryan is doing that faux-sultry voice he employs sometimes for comedic effect. Normally it works, but since Curly can’t see the cheesy face he’s definitely making, the faux part doesn’t quite land.

When he opens the door, Ryan is there smiling at him in basketball shorts and a Paddington Bear shirt and still managing to look like a snack straight off the secret menu.

Curly looks him up and down. “I didn't think you were serious about losing your virginity.” 

“I'm not,” Ryan says quickly as he shoulders his way in. “But I do have a question that’s kind of penetration oriented. It’s been bugging me for a while and I thought you’d be able to help.”

This is either a weird dream or an equally weird booty call. Curly can roll with both, but he needs to get his bearings first. Ryan, oblivious, is fidgeting with the hem of his tee in a way that makes this very difficult. 

“That doesn’t explain why you're seeking me out and not sipping on that grande vanilla latte.” 

Ryan laughs nervously. “I told you, he’s asleep. And this isn’t his, uh, area.”

“Let me rephrase that. You can't just roll up to my room after, let’s see…” Curly ticks off offenses on his fingers. “Flirting like a motherfucker all day, talking about losing your theoretical virginity, making me watch you and Shane be all cute, and then start asking me questions about penetration.”

“Sorry you guys lost the chance to deflower me under a ghost bridge.” Ryan does a fully unnecessary barrel roll across Curly’s bed and throws himself into the nearest chair, a leg slung over one of the arms. As with many things Ryan does, it’s stupidly attractive. “Wait, you think we’re cute?”

He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to actually ask whatever penetration-related question it is that’s been keeping him awake. If Curly had to guess, he’d put money on that also involving Shane, but he’s tactful enough not to push. 

So he doesn’t answer, just hitches an eyebrow and completely switches gears to goad Ryan into switching them back. “Hey, so you know we’re not too far from the Chile Pepper Institute. Did you know that was a thing? I’ve heard about it, it’s like this nonprofit on the NMSU campus. They grow all these super hot chiles from all over the world and you can do tastings and shit. I was gonna see if we could swing by but they’re not open in March. There’s a garden and--”

“I think I want to pierce my nipple.”

That shuts Curly up for all of five seconds. 

“I figured you’d be able to give me some feedback,” Ryan offers, like this is just a typical chat between colleagues.

Curly adjusts his glasses and recovers. “Shit. Wow. Okay, then. Get some sparkle on your titties, no argument here. You mind telling me where this is coming from?” 

“Curiosity?” Ryan doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m gonna be twenty-nine in November and I’ve never had anything pierced. I don’t want to get old and regret never trying it.”

“Okay, first of all, twenty-nine is not anywhere close to old,” Curly says, trying his best to sound authoritative and not like he’s picturing Ryan wearing nothing but the glint of titanium. In fairness to himself, he’s had a lot of practice at holding conversations with Ryan without letting on he’s picturing him naked. After all, he’s only human and Ryan’s body is definitely toeing the line of superhuman. “Don’t let society dupe you into thinking there’s a cutoff on doing nice things for yourself.”

Ryan’s mouth drops open as he brings a hand up to cup his chest. It makes him look a bit like a pinup girl affectedly trying to prevent a towel-drop. Curly doesn’t hate it. “Wait. You mean my nipples _don’t_ have an expiration date?”

“I’ll help you do an exam later,” Curly promises. “So what is this? Do you have a bucket list of stuff to do before you’re thirty?” 

“No, just a list of stuff I feel like I should try sooner rather than later. That way if I like it, I have more time to enjoy it.”

That sounds logical enough. Almost.

“Nipples, though.” Curly narrows his eyes. “Why.”

“Just one.” Ryan is still absently palming his chest, Paddington’s jaunty red hat disappearing and reappearing under his fingers. Any more of this and Curly is going to start seriously regretting his decision not to put pants on.

“Singular, not plural,” Ryan continues, as if Curly doesn’t realize what _one_ means. “I want to see what it’s like compared to the other one. And, like, if I lose sensation or something then I’ll still have one good nip.”

Leave it to Ryan to provide a very thorough answer that completely misses the point. “Not what I was asking. I mean, why there?”

“Oh.” Curly doesn’t miss the way he bites down on a jittery laugh. “I just don’t want anything visible? And I don’t think belly button rings are my style.” 

“I see. You know that's not the only out of sight option,” Curly tells him, and waits patiently for that to register.

Ryan blanches. 

Curly stretches off the bed enough to give him a light swat on the knee. “ _Relax_ , baby. If you don't wanna pierce your pretty dick, no one can make you.”

Ryan’s face does a 180. “Say what now? What makes you say it's pretty?” He’s always lapped up praise way too eagerly for a straight guy. It’s part of why Curly, who flirts casually with most people he finds attractive, has always pushed his luck just a little further with Ryan.

“Context clues. You're a pretty boy, Bergara.”

“So you think me and Shane are cute _and_ you think I’ve got a pretty dick. I was really onto something with that threesome idea, huh? So what should I expect if I do this?”

“Um,” Curly stutters, unaccustomed to being flustered. Yet another Bergara special, apparently. They just keep on coming.

“The piercing?” Ryan prompts. 

“Right, that, obviously.” Curly gives himself a mental kick. “I’ll be honest, it’s gonna hurt for a couple seconds and it’ll scare the hell out of you if you don’t like needles. But that’s the worst part. Afterwards, you just need to keep it clean and not use a loofah when you shower. How’s your pain tolerance?”

Ryan looks a little unnerved at the loofah comment, but his voice is calm. “I went with a friend to get her nose done once and I didn’t pass out. So that’s good, right? And my trainer makes me go pretty hard, but he’s never actually made me cry. Will I need to, like, give him a heads up about this?”

Curly takes a minute to imagine Ryan earnestly informing his trainer he’s going to need an entirely new fitness regimen drawn up around the possibility of a pierced tit. “Depends. How often does he grope your pecs?”

“It’s not _groping_ , it’s correcting my form,” Ryan protests.

“Whatever you call it, just tell him to be careful if he’s reaching for your chest. But it legit shouldn’t impact your gym routine at all.”

Ryan shifts so he’s leaning forward, both feet on the floor and his forearms on his knees. From where he’s starfished on the bed, Curly can see the way his eyes glint like polished agates behind his glasses, the tug of a frown at the corner of his lips, the way he dips the dark fans of his lashes before asking his next question.

“I read it takes a long time to heal. Is it worth it?”

Curly doesn’t hesitate. “Hell yes, totally worth it. The hardest part is keeping your hands off yourself once the swelling goes down. You’re going to be tender for maybe a week, maybe have a little bleeding, but once that goes away it’s just…” He lets out a soft, hopefully eloquent whistle. 

“But you...you’re not supposed to touch, right?” 

Ryan is watching him so intently Curly swears the temperature rises a few degrees and the flames of his candles give a little leap in unison. He can practically feel Ryan trying to stare through his shirt. Curly generously pushes himself up onto his elbows and makes it a bit easier on him. 

“Not too much or you might get an infection and that’s no fun for anyone. And maybe wait until after summer if you’re gonna be doing a lot of swimming because that’s not the best for it either.” 

Ryan is nodding. “Cool, so I’ll give myself a few months to see if I really want to commit. Thanks, man, I knew you’d be better than Google.” 

“There's one more important thing to consider,” Curly adds. “It’s a pretty big one. Very science-y.” 

Adorably, Ryan leans in further. “What?”

“Baseline data,” Curly says simply, nodding towards Ryan’s chest. For a split second, he’s making eye contact with Paddington. “How sensitive are you already?”

Ryan makes an indistinct croaking sound.

Curly waits.

“Uh, average, I guess? On a scale of what to what? I don’t actually know how sensitive guys usually are.” Ryan looks a bit lost, and also like he might blush his way into the stratosphere if Curly asks if he likes having them kissed, licked, twisted. If he ever pinches them when he jerks off. If he’s ever had a girl suck them while he’s inside her, if he’s ever imagined a guy doing the same. 

Fuck it. Curly stands up and jerks his head to indicate Ryan should do likewise. “You know what, let’s try this. Strip, _chichitas_ out.”

For whatever reason, this seems to set Ryan back on solid ground. He goes from shy schoolboy to Magic Mike on a dime, and the smile he gives Curly can only be described as saucy. Then he has the nerve to do a slow hip swivel as he drags his shirt over his head.

Curly takes a slow, calming breath. “Good. I'm gonna touch you now. Is that okay?”

“I wish you would,” Ryan says brightly. Then, under his breath, “It’s not like anyone else is.”

“Alexa, play ‘Your Body is a Wonderland,’” Curly commands, and skims his fingertips over Ryan’s chest.

For the first minute or so, Ryan screeches with laughter. 

“We’re not trying to measure how ticklish you are, Jesus. Hold _still_.” It’s impossible to sound stern while he’s got a giggling Ryan on his hands, literally, so Curly doesn’t even try.

“Sorry!” Ryan, of course, does not seem at all sorry. “I’ve never had to just stand there while someone feels me up.”

Curly curbs his own giggles long enough to gesture at the rumpled duvet. “You can lie down if you want to.”

“Velasquez.” Ryan’s grin has a sudden coyness to it that makes Curly’s heart leap into his throat. “Are you asking if you can take advantage of me?”

Curly wets his lips, weighs his options, and shrugs. “Well, _Bergara_ , I’m sure not going to be correcting your form.”

That makes Ryan hesitate. He doesn’t seem alarmed, but Curly can see the brashness fade from his face. Normally, Curly prides himself on knowing people’s limits, on being able to gauge just how much ribbing someone can handle before it goes too far. At the moment, his instincts are screaming _you fucked up_.

He’s about to say something half-joking and half-reassuring, whatever it takes to reverse the last few seconds, but Ryan beats him to it. 

“So, uh, I know this was supposed to be for science, but I get the feeling we’re about to leave the Discovery Channel behind and switch to Bad Girls Club or something.” He grimaces, but it seems to be directed at his own tortured metaphor and not Curly. “Or am I totally wrong?”

Curly blinks. Maybe he underestimated Ryan. Then again, Ryan’s had years of practice when it comes to Curly playfully hitting on him.

“No,” Curly admits. “We could totally do some channel surfing, but only if you’re down for it too. If you want to keep it on Bill Nye, that’s fine with me.” 

That startles a snicker out of Ryan. A rush of relief pours through Curly’s chest. 

He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, putting some space between himself and Ryan’s bare torso. “You want to go back to your room and get some sleep?” 

Ryan screws up his face in mock contemplation. “I’m not tired. How about you tell me my other options.”

Back on familiar turf, Curly cocks a brow at him. “In that case, if you want to put your pecs away, we can watch old Vine compilations and clean out the mini fridge until we pass out.”

“Sounds good, I like it. That little girl with the ducks, classic. What else?” 

Curly mentally riffles through every guided meditation he’s ever done for advice on how to center yourself before propositioning your bicurious coworker after a long day of chasing ghosts. It doesn’t take long. “Or. You can get comfy and let me touch your titties a little more and we’ll see where the night takes us. But I’m just saying, I’ll happily go down either road with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan murmurs.

Curly grimaces. “Okay, so let’s just--”

That’s when Ryan knees his way onto the bed, then sprawls out on his back like he’s settling in for some sunbathing. 

Curly suddenly can’t remember what the hell he was about to say. 

“I’m ready and willing whenever you are.” Ryan stretches, getting comfortable. He makes a little come-hither gesture towards his chest with both hands. Curly’s eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead.

“Gotta inspect the goods and see what we’re working with, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says in a voice that’s suddenly all breath. “Inspect the goods.” He gives a little flex, so quick Curly can’t tell if he’s showing off or just involuntarily this infuriating.

“Hmmm,” Curly murmurs. There’s an absurd element to this, a playing-doctor feel, and he leans into it. Tilts his head, runs a proprietary fingertip down Ryan’s sternum, valiantly ignores the lick of want between his legs when Ryan arches up ever so slightly. “Well, you don’t have much hair to get caught on any piercings, so there’s that. It looks like you’re a little ticklish too, huh?

“Yeah, some.”

His nipples are small and dark, rising into sharp peaks when Curly touches them. He takes one between two fingers, rubbing just enough to make Ryan’s eyes shutter.

“When it happens, they’re going to pinch you with forceps and this insane looking needle. It’ll hurt for a minute but then you’ll be on top of the world.” He pinches Ryan’s nipple for emphasis, sharp and sudden. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Ryan chokes out again. 

But he presses into Curly’s touch, not away from it. Curly rewards him for that, soothes the pinch with gentle strokes of his thumb. 

Ryan’s breath rattles around them, counterpoint to the John Mayer still playing on Curly’s phone.

“You like that? Should we see if it’s the same on this side?”

Ryan nods, mouth parted. 

Curly does it again. Ryan grits his teeth against any sound this time, which is a shame. His nipples are rigid peaks, pinched into pinkness now. Curly wants to nuzzle them, gentle them with his tongue, cover them with slow, soft kisses until Ryan is clutching his hair and too lost in pleasure to censor himself.

“Shhh, see? Nothing to it, just a little bit of pain and then you’re all done.”

He doesn’t stop touching him. Palming the swell of his pecs as Ryan squirms under him, smooth and strong and golden. Rolling the neat little buds between his fingers, teasing him with the prospect of another pinch. 

Curly tests the waters, letting his voice and touch dip a little lower.

“What else do you like? When someone licks them, do you get off on it or does it not do much for you?”

“Yeah. I like it.” He swallows, looking Curly dead in the eye with a cheeky smile. “I’ve never had anyone with a beard try it though.”

The _let’s find out_ sparks between them, unspoken. Curly neatly folds his glasses aside on the nightstand and gets down to business.

Ryan, of course, is delicious. His nipples are hard and pointed under the slow sweep of his tongue. Curly lets his beard graze the tender skin, which makes Ryan give a yelp, then tries a soft suck, which makes him shudder. The urge to press a hand between his legs, or better yet, ride his groin down against Ryan’s thigh, is overwhelming. Curly does neither, but he’s sure by now Ryan can taste his want in the air.

“Stop,” Ryan grunts.

Curly backs off immediately.

He’s expecting for Ryan to say it’s too much, that he’s ready to rethink this whole piercing idea and erase this whole hands-on conversation from his memory. What happens instead is Ryan pushes himself into a sitting position and asks, “You’ve still got yours pierced, don’t you? It’s hard to tell unless you’re wearing a tight shirt, that’s part of how I learned how stealth these things are.”

No one has ever called nipple piercings _stealth_ in Curly’s life, or possibly in anyone else’s. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Yep, sure do.”

“Can I see?” Ryan asks then, managing to radiate earnesty even with the wetness from Curly’s mouth still smeared across his skin. 

Curly hesitates. Body dysmorphia is a bitch, and part of him is still reluctant about taking his shirt off in front of anyone. Especially in front of Ryan, who’s so unselfconsciously sculpted, and clearly into Shane who's long and slim. Curly gets cagey, but he’s good at hiding it. “Yeah, hang on.” 

The shirt he has on is pretty loose in the neck. If he stretches it out, there’s a possibility he can get away with tugging his neckline down to show his piercings. 

Ryan isn’t fooled for a second. “Shit, sorry. You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it. You’ve already gone way, _way_ beyond the call of duty here.”

Curly knows this is where he should say something quippy and pithy and move them along. The words jam themselves against the roof of his mouth, brittle and bone-dry as a communion wafer.

At least the rush of anxiety has dulled the rush of urgency in his dick, so there’s that. But this is Ryan, sweet inquisitive Ryan who isn’t going to judge him and just wants to know what he’s in for. Ryan might have the arms of a demigod, but he isn’t going to push him. 

That’s enough to make Curly do it. He tips himself onto his back, rucking his shirt up under his arms in one quick, decisive moment.

“Fuck,” Ryan says. “Wow.”

Then he’s leaning in, muscles shifting under his skin with a grace that makes Curly’s gut clench. “Man, I really missed an opportunity to say ‘you show me yours, I'll show you mine,’ didn’t I?”

Unbidden, Curly pictures Ryan standing outside his door chanting ‘come play with me’ like one of those creepy twins from The Shining. The giggle that leaps from his throat surprises both of them.

Ryan grins. “So. Tell me why you went with rings. Is that what you got when they first pierced you?” 

“Nah. They do it with a barbell when you first get pierced, one that’s longer than it needs to be to accommodate for any swelling. You can swap it out once you’re more healed. Hoops are a little riskier than barbells, easier to get caught on things, but some people like the aesthetic better.” 

“Yeah, I can see that.” And then Ryan is touching him with curious exploratory fingers, fascinated, breath buffing warm against his bare skin. “Are yours sensitive too? Did you have any numbness afterward? You've gotta tell me to stop because I could play with these all night.”

Curly is enormously impressed with how steady his voice sounds. “What happens in Las Cruces is between you, me, and maybe La Llorona.”

“Are you serious?” Ryan darts a glance at his face. “Because I want to kiss you here. But I feel like I should kiss your mouth first.”

“Again, not complaining, but I’ve gotta ask why Shane's not the one getting this treatment.”

“He doesn't have piercings,” Ryan replies glibly.

Curly stills him. “Ryan. Baby. C’mon now.” 

Ryan heaves a despondent sigh. “He's aggressively straight or aggressively stupid. Maybe both.” 

“Is this where I turn into one of my _tías_ and tell you that you don’t have to change your body to get a boy to notice you? ’Cause I will do it.” 

“That’s not what this is about.” Ryan pauses, considering. “I mean, it’d be a nice bonus if it worked out that way, I’ll admit that.”

“And now you’re right on the edge of making a move, aren’t you? You’re on a precipice,” Curly says, breath catching when the tip of Ryan’s pinky teases through the loop of one nipple ring.

“A _pierce-_ ipice, more like.” Ryan looks way too proud of that one.

“That sounds like a disease or a dinosaur.”

“Better find some way to shut me up, who knows what kind of shit I might say next.” 

“You're such a fucking brat,” Curly says affectionately. And when he thumbs across the stubble dusting Ryan’s cheek, then down the tendons of his neck, Ryan lets them be guided together. 

He’s soft, not tongue-fucking Curly’s mouth from the get-go, but easing into the kiss. Ryan’s a curious guy, not one to back away from the unfamiliar. Curly barely clocks the hesitation when their facial hair rasps together, and by the time he has Ryan’s more than made up for it. The first slide of his tongue is so gentle it’s right on the threshold of worshipful. If Curly wasn’t flat on his back already, it would be enough to sweep him off his feet.

His hand comes up like he's trying to cup a breast. Curly corrects him, guides him to learn the shape of his chest. “Like this, baby, there you go.”

Ryan is still holding himself above Curly, braced on his other arm, which is both impressive and chivalrous of him. It doesn’t take more than a second for Curly to decide, in the words of Nelly Furtado, chivalry is dead but you're still kinda cute (with _kinda_ being a hell of an understatement in Ryan’s case). He pulls him down with an arm around the waist, urging Ryan to settle fully on top of him, and Ryan goes with it. 

He waits for an _oh shit, that's a dick_ moment from Ryan, but it doesn't come. Ryan makes a small gasp against the side of Curly’s neck, finds a rhythm between them, and _moves_. 

“There you go, _cariño_ ,” Curly murmurs again, stroking his back.

To the casual observer, Ryan seems like an open book. Curly knows better. There are footnotes and appendices not everyone takes the time to read, parts of him he keeps ciphered and secured no matter how loudly he laughs. Judging by how long he’s known Shane, Ryan has had plenty of time to work through any hint of gay panic that might have reared its head, and he’s kept any hint of a sexuality crisis very close to the vest. If this is his first time with another guy, he’s taking to it like a duck to water.

“You doing okay?” Curly asks, since Ryan seems so lost in the moment it’s hard to make heads or tails of how cognizant he is. “Give me a heads up if you’re gonna call me Shane at some point, just so I know what I’m in for.” 

He’s only half joking, but Ryan balks immediately.

He sits back on his heels, his shorts tented obscenely and his lips kiss-red, looking like Curly just slapped him. “That’s not what this is about. This isn’t some fucked up proxy thing.”

“Sweetie, come here, I was just playing.”

Ryan melts back into his touches, frown lines still etched across his face. “I’m not that kind of asshole, okay? You're my friend and I'm trusting you with some seriously vulnerable parts of my mind and body here.”

“And I appreciate that very much, not just because of the perks,” Curly says, peppering kisses across his shoulder. “But I know I’m not the only one on your mind right now.”

The sigh Ryan heaves seems so much bigger than him, leaves him looking crumpled with resignation. He turns the full force of his gaze on Curly, wide and candid. “I just want him to kiss me.”

Curly can’t help mentally filling in the blanks. _To be proud of me. To make love to me. To let me feed him champagne and strawberries._ Ryan loves hard, he knows that much. Poor sweet Ryan, whose job security relies on his willingness to bare his hopes and fears to the world. But not all of them.

His mouth quirks in a way that makes Curly wonder if Ryan can somehow tell exactly what he’s thinking. He looks away from Ryan’s face and focuses on the far wall, painted the warm off-white of milky oatmeal, bedecked with framed photos of fruit bowls and mottled magenta flowers. “Tell me this. You've slept in the same bed with him and never pulled the ‘hold me, I'm scared’ thing?” 

Ryan colors. “I might have tried.” 

“Huh.” Curly lets that slide for now. “Maybe he's asexual, he never acted real couply with Sara.” 

“He's just straight and reserved.” Ryan snorts. “I’ve done a lot of fieldwork on this.”

Curly doesn’t doubt that. Ryan throws himself into his work wholeheartedly, whether it’s researching hauntings or his coworker’s proclivities. 

It’s hard to tell how long he’s been trying to test the waters with Shane; for as long as Curly can recall, their friendship has looked a heck of a lot like dating. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been keeping an eye on them from afar, like a safari guide scouting for animals or a storm chaser waiting for the clouds to break. The only thing breaking so far seems to be Ryan’s emotions, a swirling vortex of want and confusion that would rip the roof right off Shane’s oblivious little world if he just stepped outside to notice it.

Either the late hour or the pressure of Ryan’s thigh between his legs has Curly a little unhinged.

“How long,” he says, not bothering to elaborate or make it a question.

“Dunno,” Ryan answers. “A while, definitely since we were doing Test Friends. I was still getting to know him, but these moments would just happen sometimes. I wouldn't even notice sometimes, then later during editing I'd be like, wait, _what_? Like when you yawn and you spit a little and it's kind of unexpected and weird and you kind of want to do it again?”

Curly throws back his head and laughs. “I am disgusted and delighted. You guys are already a Buzzfeed power couple, how the fuck have you not made it official by now?”

“I don’t even know how to flirt with him,” Ryan grumbles. “We live in a world where tightening each other's harnesses and sleeping in the same bed is literally just another day at the office. How do I top that?”

“Any way he'll let you,” Curly says immediately.

“I'm serious!” Ryan protests, but he's tittering. “If he was interested in me, I'd know. I can’t be any more obvious. And...and I know I need to let this dead horse stay dead, but I can’t do it.”

“Don’t compare your burning, throbbing desire to a dead horse,” Curly says. “Now come here.” 

Ryan is opening up to him in so many ways, wearing his vulnerabilities and almost nothing else. Curly rewards him for his honesty, kisses his pink cheeks and pretty mouth and fondles his nipples until Ryan is squirming against him. 

“I think I’m doing it wrong,” Ryan complains against his jaw. “I don’t know what the fuck kind of signals I’m supposed to send to another guy." 

“You did okay with me,” Curly points out. “Better pierce a tit just to be sure, though, that should do it.”

He pinches one between two fingers for emphasis, ducking his head to suck lightly at the other. Above him, Ryan laughs and squirms, but still isn’t done asking questions. “Is it gonna be hard all the time? If I do decide to get one?”

Curly doesn’t stop nuzzling his chest. “What’s the matter, you don't wanna be hard all the time?” He works a knee between Ryan’s legs, nudging his thighs further apart.

“I've heard that's a medical condition,” Ryan says weakly around a chuckle that turns into a moan. His fingers sink into Curly’s hair and clench.

This may simultaneously be the oddest and most apropos conversation Curly has ever had while he’s mouth level with another guy’s tits. He releases Ryan’s nipple with a good, strong suck that leaves it flushed and swollen, erect after leaving the heat of his mouth. “It won’t be hard, just more pronounced. Most people won’t even know it’s there unless you’ve got on a really light or really tight shirt.”

Ryan surges against him, his dick hard against Curly’s stomach. He still has both hands in his hair, fingertips kneading Curly’s scalp as he smears kisses along his jaw. “Is it weird that I don’t want people to notice it unless I want them to?”

“You can’t worry what people _might_ be thinking of you.” It pains him to do it, but Curly guides Ryan’s hands down and eases the two of them apart so he can get a good look at him. “This is the only example I can think of because you’ve got my brain in my dick, but here goes. My own abuela calls me a _culero_ , but I know it’s all coming from a place of love and, like, gentle teasing. If someone who I didn’t have that relationship with called me that, I’d throw hands, but I’m not gonna start fights with everyone I _suspect_ is thinking of me like that. That would just be insane and take up all my time. You get what I mean?”

“I feel like you’re making a good point, but what does _culero_ mean exactly?”

“It’s like...a gay person, an ass bandit.”

Ryan gives a snort. “Ass bandit. That sounds like something Shane would say.”

“So start speaking his language. Tell him you want to commit banditry on his ass.”

“Is banditry even a word?” Ryan wonders, then shivers when Curly’s fingers find him through his shorts. “ _Oh_. Fuck. Never mind, I’ll look it up later.”

“Good boy,” Curly croons at him. “My turn for questions now. What do you have on under these?”

In response, Ryan just shimmies them off his hips and lets that do the talking.

“You dirty bird,” Curly murmurs, pleased. “Lie down.” 

Ryan might be concerned about the onset of his late twenties, but in so many ways he’s still very much the chipper intern he was when Curly met him and thought _oh no, this one's cute_. There’s something about Ryan's eagerness, the curiosity he wears as easily as the the sheen of his skin, that makes Curly want to take care him, look after him, chase ghosts in the desert for him and hold him close afterward until his nerves settle.

It definitely makes him want to wriggle out of his clothes and feel the heat of his skin with no barriers in the way, so Curly does it. 

He touches him, gives the length of his dick a slow, tight stroke squeeze before releasing it to play with the slick, plump head of it. Curly could spend the rest of the night like this, letting Ryan’s cockhead slip between his fingers and drinking every last moan right out of Ryan’s mouth. It feels so natural to have Ryan like this, hot and wanting under him. Of course he should pluck at Ryan’s nipples, stroke over them, pinch them gently; of course he should thumb the slit of his cock until he can feel the hot gush of precome as it spills free; of course he should take care of him that way. Ryan came to him wanting answers and Curly is a very giving person.

Curly knows he’s on the verge falling apart. There’s sweat gathering at his hairline, behind his knees, and he’s smearing precome in patches over Ryan’s stomach, catching in his treasure trail, reveling in the easy slide of their cocks against each other. If this wasn’t their first time, he’d be tempted to turn Ryan on his belly and fuck into the clench of his thighs. It’s a fantasy that’s replayed in his mind regularly over the years: pinning Ryan down by the hips, guiding him to squeeze his thighs tight around his cock, then pulling out at the last second and coming hot and lewd over the plump curve of his ass.

Ryan has his head thrown back, baring his throat and gasping for air, hands clutching at Curly’s shoulders. He’s watching Curly with wide glassy eyes, mouth all supple and sweet and pink--always so pink, like he's been drowning in all the kisses Curly knows he hasn't been getting until now--whimpering _Curly, holy shit_ while Curly's fingers hook under the waistband of his shorts where they’re snagged around his calves, pulling them the rest of the way off. 

He’s a gorgeous mess, thighs spread, belly slick from leaking all over himself in his shorts. Curly hasn’t had a drink in years, but the bare expanse of Ryan’s body, the neediness evident in every muscle, is the definition of intoxicating. He must need to come so badly by now, it would be torture to make him wait any longer. 

"Sshhh," he whispers, kissing his damp forehead, then drawing back to look his fill where Ryan is laid out like a piece of art. “My sweet baby boy. What am I gonna do with you?”

He’s completely unprepared for Ryan to whip out his biceps and _flip_ them. 

“Whoa there, daddy,” Curly purrs, looking up at him with half-lowered lids. “Didn’t think you had that kind of coordination left in you.”

Ryan lifts a brow at him. “How did I just go from baby to daddy, you want to share what the rationale is there?”

“You're about to make the jump to baby daddy if you keep grinding on me like that,” Curly shoots back, but then Ryan’s hot mouth is all over his chest, clumsily tonguing the little metal loops there. He seems fascinated by them, but also by Curly’s chest hair and Horus tattoo, spending a long time swirling his fingers against his skin. Curly reaches between them, takes both their cocks in one hand, stroking in time to the thrust of Ryan’s hips.

“Oh fuck, I need…” Ryan begs at last, his rhythm faltering. "Feels so fucking good, don't stop, _please_."

Ryan wins for sheer musculature, but Curly is still strong enough to arch up under him and tip them both onto their sides. All the better to urge one of Ryan’s legs over his hip and get his other hand on the ass he hides way too often in oversized shorts. “You close, sweetie? It’s okay, I’ve got you. Whatever you need, it's okay." 

Curly doesn’t stop touching him, jerking them both together with practiced strokes. He drifts touches over the curve of Ryan’s ass, finding where his balls are drawn up tight and full to his body, testing the heavy heat of them in his hand.

Ryan’s breath catches. “Wait.”

It’s only a millisecond of alarm, but it’s enough.

“Ohhhh,” Curly says softly. “You really are a virgin, aren't you? Just a little bit, just back here. Nobody's ever been inside your little _culo_ , baby? Never had anyone put their cock in your ass?”

There’s a distinct hitch in Ryan’s voice. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Curly repeats, feeling a tongue of flame snake up his spine. “But you want it, don't you? And you don't wanna start small.” 

Ryan’s mouth drops open a little more. “Curly…”

“Sometime, when you want to go that far, I could get you nice and ready for him,” Curly offers, and Ryan jerks like a live wire in his arms. 

_Interesting_. 

Shane might be asleep in his and Ryan’s shared room, but he’s been with them the whole time. Might as well let him play too.

“You’d be all slicked up and open inside, he’d slide right into you,” Curly continues, nipping at Ryan’s ear. “Or I could just fuck you here and send you back to your room. You’d have to sleep right across the room from him like that, all sore and stretched and empty inside.”

Ryan undulates against him, body gone molten with need.

“Yeah?” Curly goads him. “You like that? You wanna let Shane be the cleanup crew after I fuck your tight little ass?”

He isn’t sure which of them comes first. The next thing he knows, he’s groaning his pleasure into Ryan’s hair, and Ryan is moaning and pulsing come into his hand. 

Bit by bit, the world resettles around them, leaving Curly surprised and sated but mostly impressed. He can’t remember the last time he was treated to the simultaneous orgasm experience.

When he has the wherewithal to untangle himself from Ryan, he manages to grab his shirt from the foot of the bed and wipe them down. Ryan, for once, lies still and actually seems to be speechless. 

It’s very difficult for Curly not to preen. In all fairness, he doesn’t try very hard to suppress the urge.

“Some other time,” he says cheerfully, “I want to get you nice and hard with my mouth and then let you fuck it. Unless you don’t want there to be another time.”

“Oh my god,” Ryan wails, “you seriously think I can say no to that? You’re like a dick sorcerer, you could probably get me to agree to anything right now. I’m sleeping over, by the way.” 

Despite the heat, he’s as tactile as ever, touch-seeking and practically purring as he settles in. One hand grazes Curly’s nipple, idly toying with the ring there even as his eyes slide shut.

“Whatever you decide,” Curly tells him through a yawn, “it’s gonna be fine. I’m telling you, if you get one of these, your boy is gonna love it. And if you decide not to, your boy is still gonna love it.” 

Ryan reddens, eyes puppy-wide. No one should have the right to look this angelic after coming their brains out. “He’s not my...my boy.”

“Maybe not yet,” Curly admits, “but I think he could be, once he figures a few things out.”

“I wanna fuck him so bad,” Ryan says in a small, plaintive voice. His body curls in on itself as if the admission is literally gutting.

“I know, baby, I know you do.” Curly yawns again, stroking through Ryan’s messy hair. “He just needs some time to see what’s right in front of him. You’re cheer captain and he’s in the bleachers.”

“I don’t think Taylor Swift has any advice for this situation, man. I basically offered to have a threesome with both of you and he just laughed it off!”

“As opposed to a threesome with just one of us?”

“You know what I mean,” Ryan huffs. “Don’t get mathematical on me now.”

Curly gives him a swat on the ass before reaching over to turn off the light. “Go the fuck to sleep.” 

They drowse together for a few minutes, sex-drunk and worn out. Beside him, Ryan stirs again.

“Hey, Curly? If I do decide to get a piercing, will you come with me to get it done?” 

Curly slings an arm across his waist, burrowing his nose into the join of Ryan’s shoulder and letting the first threads of sleep finally ease over him. “Baby, I'll come with you anytime.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support, your patience, and your appreciation of Ryan's nipples! :D

Stress relief takes many forms. Starting a company and continuing to juggle all the obligations of Unsolved just don’t allow many opportunities for it. 

Shane can’t remember the last time he had the luxury of firing up his PS4 for some Red Dead Redemption, or spending an entire evening on a cutthroat Arkham session, or just getting to have a nap if he feels like having one.

When they officially incorporate Watcher, less than a week after coming back from filming their La Llorona episode, it’s like finally being able to breathe after treading water for months. They bust out the champagne and cheese balls and live it up in Ryan’s kitchen. It’s not much of a party by traditional standards, but the three of them are high on this new reality they’ve somehow managed to create and throw themselves into. Steven, of all people, lifts a glass and proclaims “CEOs, baby!” and it feels a little bit like they all just flipped to the one page of a Choose Your Own Adventure book with a happy ending.

There’s no ending in sight, of course. Shane can admit that to himself, just like he can admit to the oddly specific habit of applying 90’s nostalgia willy-nilly while wired to high heaven thanks to a lack of sleep and a surplus of champagne. They’ve barely scratched the surface of the beginning, but it still feels like they’re wrapping up a pretty big chapter in their lives. And while he’s leaning across the kitchen island, ignoring Steven’s attempts at trash talking and trying to toss cheese balls into Ryan’s laughing mouth, that feels significant as fuck.

Another big breath of relief comes at the end of the month, when season five of True Crime premieres. Shane keeps an eye on how many comments are about Unsolved basically carrying Buzzfeed at this point, hoping for the millionth time that this means they’ll be able to take their audience with them when they launch Watcher to the rest of the world. It really seems like they have a shot at making this whole entrepreneurship thing work.

It turns out going full metal businessman doesn’t leave time for making much _else_ work, that’s all. Shane thought he was handling the single life as well as the next guy, so really doesn't expect to end up lamenting the state of his personal life, such as it is, to Ryan in the middle of Knott’s Berry Farm.

In retrospect, he could totally blame Ryan for this, seeing as Ryan’s the one who arranged for Snoopy to hang out with them pre and post HangTime. It definitely has nothing whatsoever to do with Shane being a shitty bowler, Shane taking Ryan up on his stupid wager, or Shane being absolutely done for every goddamn time Ryan so much as blinks at him.

The point is, he’s just staggered off HangTime and therefore all his guts have been liquefied and his neurons are misfiring. They’ve just tottered over to a bench--or at least Shane is tottering, while Ryan seems annoyingly stable for once--and Shane’s addled synapses decide he should proclaim, “That was the most tender embrace I’ve had in the past year and it was from some anonymous guy in a Snoopy suit. Not sure how to feel about that.” 

“I’ve got water if you need some,” Ryan offers. “I can’t tell if you’re dehydrated or just thirsty for Snoopy, but either way...”

Later, Shane will blame his response on post-coaster syndrome, which he can’t possibly be the first person to coin. He’s still taking some time to shudder back into himself after that trauma, and it’s just him and Ryan on their own, cameras off while Mark and Matt wander off to shoot B-roll.

He slumps down further on the bench and lets his head tilt to rest on Ryan’s shoulder without making a single wisecrack about what a long journey it is to get there. To anyone passing by, it just looks like he’s taking a quick rest, or possibly had one too many at the tiki bar, not that he’s trying to keep from having heart palpitations just from the scent of Ryan’s aftershave and the heat of his skin through his shirt.

Ryan passes him a water bottle. “Do you need another tender embrace, man?”

Shane wants to say yes, to Ryan and his bowling smack talk and shredded black jeans and freely offered affection, but he just laughs weakly. “I’m gonna focus on Watcher being embraced by the world, then I’ll worry about myself.” 

And he lifts his head off Ryan’s shoulder before Ryan can tell him to do it.

* * *

  
  
  
It takes an embarrassingly long time for Shane to concede that he might have made a huge mistake by hinging multiple shows on going to quirky places, eating delicious things, and gazing happily into Ryan’s eyes. It’s supposed to be fun, and it is, even though it’s technically work. Shane’s not sure when he starts keeping a tally of moments where he almost loses his mind, but they stack up at an alarming rate.

The camera panning to Ryan looking particularly pitiful after Shane makes a show of “winning” a giant plush puppy at the Knott's ball toss. He immediately hands it back after the scene, fully prepared to regale Ryan with some boilerplate nihilism about how all the games on the midway are rigged and the odds of actually winning anything that big are astronomical. Instead, he jokingly asks Ryan if he should have won him a prize. And Ryan, not missing a beat, grins with the radiance of a shooting star and goes, “Aw, babe, would you?” Shane, to his horror, realizes that he absolutely would, no matter how long it took or how astronomical the odds.

Spending hours baking a pie from scratch and being borderline unaware of how Mr. Pie Hole reacts at first because he’s so entranced by the way Ryan lights up with amazement. Gorging their way through the menu and trying not to give anything away, like dazzling Ryan was ever anything but his number one priority. Absorbing all the sensual noises and orgasmic faces Ryan produces when he eats...that’s a very close, very concerning second. 

Watching Ryan gleefully flailing his way through the Charleston, but making up for it by smacking his ass with aplomb at the grand finale. It doesn’t help that this is the same day they try their hand at Shakespeare, which leads to Ryan deciding to channel the sultriest Polonius to ever Polonius and Shane feeling unhinged enough to give Hamlet a run for his money. 

Falling on his ass trying to roller skate and almost falling right back over again when Ryan offers to follow him around with a pillow, shoots him finger guns, and declares, “Call me Thor ’cause I’ll totally be your Asgardian.”

Visiting the Mystic Museum and linking hands with Ryan, still warm and slick from sweet-scented oil, and deliberating not letting go even when Mia the medium says they can. 

And for every moment that makes the cut, there are easily a dozen others that don’t.

Essentially, the issue is that both Weird/Wonderful World and Tourist Trapped basically entail taking each other on a series of dates. That’s it. That’s literally the premise of the whole show. Both whole shows. Shane is either the master of delayed realization or he knew this all along and refused to acknowledge it. 

He’s pretty good at refusing to acknowledge things, especially feelings. It’s a gift.

So when he offhandedly notes that this is the closest thing to a date he's been on lately-- _this_ being his and Ryan’s jaunt through Galco’s Soda Pop Stop--it completely takes him by surprise. The sugar crash must be hitting him harder than he expected. 

Fortunately, this doesn’t seem to rattle Ryan at all. He still seems to be in a great mood, bubbly and pepped up from downing his weight in soda as he drives Shane home after a full day of filming. “Dude, that would be such a great first date! Making personalized sodas for each other is definitely up there with Build-A-Bear, not to mention it’s way cheaper.”

In the grand scheme of courting, he and Ryan have basically filmed a remake of 50 First Dates by now, complete with Shane as a dogged Adam Sandler and Ryan just as oblivious as Drew Barrymore. There are plenty of moments that make Shane wish he had a touch of short-term memory loss. Currently, confusing trash talk with dirty talk during their go-kart race and calling Ryan a creamy little guy on camera are pretty high up there.

He is absolutely not going to dwell on this now. “So I realize we’ve spent the last few hours drinking and not much else, but can I entice you in for a drink?” he asks when Ryan coasts to a stop outside his building. 

Ryan telegraphs his feelings with such transparency it’s ridiculous. Shane can tell he’s going to decline before he even opens his mouth. 

“I can’t, man, sorry. I’ve gotta be up early for the gym, then I want to do some weekend editing and I’m supposed to go with Curly to the dog park.”

This has gotten to be a regular thing for him. Shane isn’t super keen on spending the evening with no company beyond Obi and Netflix, but he can’t begrudge Ryan for having a healthy routine and wanting to frolic with some puppies. Not to mention these dog park adventures always result in some seriously adorable pictures popping up on his and Curly’s Instagrams afterward.

“Next time, okay?” Ryan says.

Shane swallows his disappointment, adjusts his headband, and opens the door. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

  
  
  
“You know,” Ryan muses, “I thought you were living for the whole independent bachelor lifestyle.” 

This is not precisely the “next time” Shane envisioned, but he’ll take it. It’s Wednesday evening, and they’re both ragged around the edges from hashing out a shooting schedule for Unsolved’s Viper Room episode and caucusing with Steven about their planned channel launch in September. They also had to reschedule their trip to visit the infamous Annabelle, which is such a _them_ problem it would be hilarious if it wasn’t just another dollop of stress on the stress parfait of their lives. 

Shane is just high enough to have said this out loud. 

That led to them both speculating about what kinds of layers their ideal life parfaits would have, because why the fuck not. And Shane, a little dazed from watching Ryan’s very pink lips part around a very respectable smoke ring, had said, “I guess at this point I need a layer of...I dunno, aphrodisiacs? Oysters and dark chocolate and whatever else is supposed to get you a second date.” 

He wishes it was that easy. If sexy food was a direct path to intimacy, Steven Lim would be swimming in it.

Ryan is stretched out crosswise on his couch and Shane is on the floor, limbs akimbo, leaning back against it with one arm draped over the cushions. They’re sharing a joint and personal information, and while the former is very much in Shane’s wheelhouse the latter very much is not. It’s a little easier without having to look at Ryan. His TV is idling on the Netflix home screen and he wants to click on literally anything to add some additional stimulation to distract them.

“Was I wrong?” Ryan presses. “’Cause it sounds like you’re over the bachelor thing and I’m not above making you a Tinder profile.”

Shane winces and very deliberately does not answer that. “Don’t say _bachelor_ , it always makes me think of the guy from 101 Dalmatians.” 

“Roger?” Of course Ryan knows the guy’s name. “You mean the tall lanky dude with floppy hair and an impressive collection of chinos?”

“There’s no way in hell that comes up in the movie.”

“Roger’s chino-owning prowess is heavily implied,” Ryan says smoothly. “There are way worse Disney doppelgangers to have, man. I mean, he does get the girl _and_ success in his chosen field.” He helpfully hums a few bars of “Cruella DeVil.”

Shane plucks the joint from his hand and takes a long, contemplative drag.

“It doesn’t even have to be a girl.” 

He’s mentally muttered variations on this phrase so many times that he doesn’t fully register the sound of his own voice at first.

Ryan beats him to it. “Oh. Wow.”

Shane lets his head loll back against the couch, craning his neck to take in the sprawl of Ryan’s body, from the dazzling white of his socks to the lines crumpling his forehead. He waits.

Ryan opens his mouth, seems to think better of it, and then opens it again. Shane half expects to hear the metallic crunch of gears grinding. “So, uh,” Ryan says slowly, as if he’s picking each word with surgical precision, “do you mean, like, this dry spell you’re in is so bad that theoretically you'd settle for a cryptid as long as it showed an interest, or like…” 

He cringes and prudently shuts up. 

Shane takes a few moments to ponder how the hell Ryan’s neural pathways hopped right over the possibility of Shane being into guys and made the leap to Shane getting it on with Nessie. 

“No,” Shane says. “No, that is not what I mean.” 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Ryan sputters. “Fuck, I mean, not that you’re obligated to tell me stuff you aren’t comfortable with. But like, this is on me, right? You shouldn’t have had to--I should’ve known this about you already.” He hoists himself into a sitting position, frowns when that puts even more distance between the two of them, then slides down to sit on the rug beside Shane. 

This puts Shane about six inches away from Ryan’s wide, red-rimmed eyes when he earnestly declares, “I totally get it if you think I’m a shitty friend. I’m gonna do better. And I’m serious, you don’t need to hide stuff from me. I can take it.”

Shane bristles. Part of him wants to defend himself, to say this isn’t about Ryan and his ability to take or not take things. He wants to protest that he's never hidden anything from Ryan, but the rest of him knows that he's definitely mentioned an ex without using pronouns multiple times. Even though he has no logical reason to do it, he’s been guilty of perpetuating microaggressions against himself, accumulating a mountain of little moments that let him coast by on the assumption of heterosexuality. He can’t blame this on Ryan without also taking a long, hard look at himself for being non-confrontational to a fault.

“Well,” he says awkwardly, fanning his fingers in an anemic attempt at jazz hands. “Now you know.”

Ryan looks thunderstruck. He picks the joint back up. eyeing it like he’s not sure he can trust it, and deliberately sets it right back down again. “Okay. I know you like to make fun of me for being in a frat, but it wasn't like something out of Animal House. It was a bunch of dorky film students and I wasn't even in it until senior year. There’s a few bi guys in the squad. I totally would've invited you to bros’ night in for some rage cage if I knew you were into dudes.”

“So bromantic.”

“You don’t know true bromance until you’ve fallen into a pal’s arms after chugging too hard,” Ryan insists. He demonstrates, does a little swoon right where he’s sitting, complete with breathy sound effects.

Shane, who has built up an extensive mental catalogue of circumstances that involve making Ryan gasp, forces a smile.

“I didn’t know you were serious when you had your little ‘love everyone’ moment at the Independent Shakespeare Company.” Ryan gives Shane a pensive look, every inch the philosophical stoner, and rakes a hand through his hair. “Damn. This just makes your dating prospects easier, right?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“How _does_ it work, then?” Ryan sounds for all the world like he’s ready to settle in for a TED Talk and take notes.

Shane has many spiels about how bisexuality doesn’t mean indiscriminate attraction to anyone and everyone. He’s still awkward and picky and abysmal at making the first move. No one ever talks about how being bi means living with the potential to make a fool out of yourself in front of more than one gender.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” he says instead, and he’s doing it again, sidestepping the truth. He tries to justify it to himself--he’s done plenty of soul-baring for one evening, he’s not going to shatter all his bad habits at once--but it doesn’t chase away the sting of guilt. “Wanna round up some snacks and binge some Ozark?”

He’s clearly changing the subject and Ryan clearly knows it, but he also knows Shane and so he lets him. 

“Yeah, big guy, I’d love that.” He grins and shoves himself to his feet, using Shane’s shoulder for leverage, then reaches out a hand to help Shane up too.

It’s sweet.

Shane, god help him, falls a little harder.

* * *

  
  
  
Tinder is a huge mistake.

Shane knew it would be, but he joined anyway. He suited up and launched himself out there to surf the sea of mistakes and it was exactly what he expected. Which is to say, joining Tinder has not encouraged him to do anything but ignore it for not containing Ryan.

The only remotely gratifying part of setting up an account is announcing to Ryan that he’s done it.

 _I’m_ _doing the Tinder thing_ , he texts. _This is a thing that I am doing_.

And, more for his own accountability than Ryan’s benefit, sends him a screenshot of his profile.

Ryan texts him back within thirty seconds. 

_wtf man this is the worst_

_Hey now_ , Shane types, _I thought you’d be glad i’m finally taking the plunge._

He doesn’t need to see Ryan to know he’s sighing. _Dude you’ve got one pic up and you can’t even see your whole face_

This is one criticism Shane is ready for.

 _It’s a profile picture. Get it_? 😉

For a few minutes, there’s no response, presumably because Ryan has just shut down and needs to reboot himself. Then he fires off a stream of distressed emojis.

Shane grins in spite of himself. _I can’t believe I actually did it._

 _I can’t believe how bad u are at it_ , Ryan complains. _You also have no bio btw_ , he adds, as if Shane isn’t aware how barebones his profile is. 

_So write me one, smarty pants_

The three dots beside Ryan’s name linger for an awfully long time considering the reply he finally sends. 

_Big head, big dreams_

Shane snorts. _Well, it’s not inaccurate_ , he concedes, and hits send. 

He waits a few more minutes, but Ryan doesn’t deign to follow up. Slowly, realization dawns on him.

_That’s it? That’s your bio for me???_

_Better than nothing_ , Ryan informs him. _Which is what u have now js_

There’s no arguing with that. He certainly does have nothing.

* * *

  
  
As content as Shane is to completely jettison his first foray into the world of dating apps, Ryan is not.

Ryan is, for whatever reason, way more invested than Shane is in whether he’s matched with anyone. 

“Have you even been swiping?” Ryan demands one evening. There’s an alarming _do you even lift, bro?_ edge to his voice. “That’s the point of this whole thing, man, you’ve gotta get your swipe on.”

Shane casts his eyes around for eavesdroppers even though he knows damn well it’s just the two of them, knocking out some edits in their new office while Steven’s out chasing a potential Homemade guest. “Huh, is that what the youths are calling it?”

“C’mon, big guy, keep me in the loop here.”

In Shane’s opinion, he’s done that plenty, not that there’s much of a loop to keep Ryan in. He hasn’t added any other photos, but he did scrounge up a few sentences for what Ryan grudgingly admitted is a passable bio. He’s using the free version of the app because he refuses to shell out a single cent to the Tinder overlords, which means he can’t see who’s liked him. It jives perfectly with his MO of putting in the least possible effort. 

Ryan is completely undeterred by this. 

Ryan is constantly asking if he’s chatting with anyone, if he’s matched with anyone. Over the past couple weeks, Shane’s caught him stealing glances at Shane’s phone every time he gets a push notification. The joke’s on him because Shane deliberately turned those off in the interest of his own sanity. 

His preference is listed as men only, and he doesn’t care to elaborate on why. 

Shane has swiped only left so far. Currently he’s lingering on a guy named Hamza with a golden tan and a smile a mile wide. His profile has some cheesy line about how he's studying for the bar but not too busy to meet up at one, which Shane appreciates. He hasn’t swiped on him yet, just keeps closing the app and ignoring the whole thing. It’s very Midwestern of him.

“Honestly, I think I just need to delete the whole thing,” he says. “What’s the point of trying to match with some rando? If I have to see one more profile pic with a shitty filter on it, or one more bio that’s just a list of emojis, I’m done.”

“Maybe you need to put 60+ for your target age range,” Ryan says sweetly. “Because that’s how old you sound right now.”

“ _Also_ ,” Shane continues, “we’re breaking into the big time, baby. What if some crazed Boogara recognizes me and I get stabbed on our first date because they can’t handle the existence of science? Do you want that on your conscience?”

Ryan surveys him blandly. “Why would they stab you over science and why would that be on my conscience?” 

Joking aside, getting recognized is a potential issue that’s been scratching at the back of Shane’s brain this whole time. “Hey, just saying putting myself out there has its risks. I’m a distinctive looking guy.” 

“You sure are,” Ryan mutters, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips. “You think someone might leak all your sexts to the Russians or write a Medium article about how problematic your pickup lines are? Is that what's holding you back?”

His voice bubbles into a giggle that makes Shane want to vault over the desk and lap the laughter from his mouth. 

Because he’s had a considerable amount of practice pretending to be a functioning human being around Ryan, he does neither. “Thank you, that’s two more things to worry about even though I’m not sexting anyone and I have zero pickup lines.” 

He has no intention of reeling off the other things he's worrying about.

The sheer existential anxiety of trying to seek out intimate human contact with someone he doesn't work with. The fact that he's never tried a dating app before and doubts it’ll help now. The whole launching-a-company thing devouring most of his free time as it is. The way he can't help wanting to sag into Ryan's big dumb arms because every time he sees him it's like he's just stepped off HangTime all over again.

Maybe he’d be cured if Ryan just offered to put on a Snoopy suit. It would be so much easier if he could pin this all on Snoopy.

“I need to just get rid of it,” Shane concludes. “I’m not actually doing anything on there. Maybe it’s time to accept that Watcher life goes hand in hand with the single life.”

This is the perfect moment for Ryan to make some wisecrack about which one of them is Paris Hilton and which is Nicole Richie. 

Instead, this is when Ryan bites his lip like a soap opera ingenue and admits he’s not actually single.

Shane blinks several times and wonders if he actually does belong in the 60+ demographic because surely he didn’t hear that right. “Wait, what?”

“I said I’m technically not single?” Ryan ventures, as if he’s afraid of giving the wrong answer about something as subjective as his own personal life. 

For a while, Shane just nods like a broken bobblehead. Lets himself process.

There’s a logic to it. This company thing is tough and if Ryan needs to hook up to help him decompress, then cool. If anything, Shane should be impressed with him for finding the time for it. But Ryan seems to take his silence as an invitation to fill it, so on he goes, babbling that he's kind of seeing someone and it’s sort of a recurring thing but they’re not really looking to label it anyway. Shane finds his admission adorable and blindsiding, like he’s just been punched in the face by a valentine addressed to somebody else. And he still can’t choke out a word to save his life.

“Uh, you're staring,” says Ryan.

He thinks about playing dumb. That's what he'd normally do. Make a joke about how the hell Ryan found someone willing to put up with him long enough to date him, maybe throw in a dig about dazzling potential partners by reciting the entire Chipotle menu from memory. And then Shane thinks, for one heedless moment, about admitting everything. That yeah, he is staring, he’s been staring for years, drinking in the sight of Ryan every second he can. But he can't do it, he can’t afford to give so much as a hint of the truth away, let alone the entire messy thing. 

Most of all, though, Shane thinks about asking. He can’t think of who the hell Ryan’s been spending time with, of when he might have managed to meet someone. Ryan runs in some social circles that don’t overlap with Shane’s, less so since they decided to form Watcher and it eclipsed most of them, so of course there are things he doesn’t know. But Ryan has never been able to keep quiet when he’s seeing someone new, Shane is keenly aware of this. The exaltation just flows out of him. 

This, Shane decides, must be very recent or he would have known. It must be very new or he’d have picked up on it. And for something this big, Ryan would have told him. He wouldn’t deliberately hide it from Shane.

“It’s been going on since March, kind of,” Ryan blurts out, like he’s reading his mind. “Just...I didn’t say anything because it was casual. It’s still casual, I mean. We’re kind of rolling with it, you know?”

“It’s the end of May,” Shane says, idiotically. 

Ryan nods, sheepish. _Shy_.

There are other questions clawing their way up Shane’s throat, too. Maybe he hasn’t been as subtle as he thought. Maybe, now that they’re spending even more time together, Ryan’s noticed Shane creeping on him too often to write it off as quirky, his gaze lingering on Ryan a little too long, a little too heavy. Maybe getting a girlfriend is also a convenient way for him to head that off at the pass. 

And as much as that hurts to even consider, Shane still wants to pick his brain about who this is and how it happened and how serious it is and every dirty detail of what they’ve done together. If this girl has been learning every arch and angle of the landscape of his body, if she’s party to Ryan’s recent tendency to rub his nipples in the name of some extended bit that’s only funny to him and absolutely life-ruining for Shane. 

It’s very inconvenient, but no matter how annoying Ryan is, he just wants to make sweet, sweet love to him and tell him he's perfect in every way. Maybe latch onto his nipples and make him scream, but only if Ryan’s into that. There’s a steady stream of evidence to suggest he is, though. Ryan announcing to all and sundry he doesn’t have a nipple fetish makes it easier for Shane to develop one of his own; no one will ever suspect.

None of this is Ryan’s fault, of course. All Ryan is doing is existing, flashing around his biceps and that gorgeous sky-wide smile that makes Shane want to tear his hair out while reciting poetry. He’s a rational guy, he learned to admit this to himself a long time ago. And he has absolutely no intention of admitting it to anyone else.

Instead, he stumbles over the first words he can scrounge up and and hopes Ryan buys them.

“I don’t get it. How is it so easy for you? We’re working twenty-eight hour days and you’re dating? What kind of wizard are you?”

He sputters for what feels like a decade before Ryan takes pity on him. "Hey, chill. If you see someone you like, swipe right, and don’t be scared to see where it takes you, okay? This can be easy for you too, just put yourself out there and try not to stress about it. Steven agrees with me, for a chill dude you're wound way too tight," and what the actual fuck, does Ryan seriously have chats with Steven about how _tight_ he is?

Shane’s brain is going to start dribbling out his ears any second now.

“I’m happy for you,” he says and tries to believe it. “I don’t know where you found the time to meet someone, but...yeah, good for you.”

Ryan is distinctly pink. “Thanks, man.” 

They work in silence after that. Shane’s concentration is shot, so he packs up within the next half hour, gets a wave and a smile from Ryan on his way out the door. Sweet, snarky, suddenly off the market Ryan.

Later, he sets his jaw and swipes right on Hamza.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Shane tries to let it go. He writes scripts for Puppet History. He edits their last Tourist Trapped shoot. He waits an entire week for Hamza to message him, since like hell is he messaging first. He acts as normal and natural around Ryan as he knows how to be.

He doesn't let it go.

It’s not snooping, what he does next.

It’s not. 

It’s taking the information he already has and using it to make informed hypotheses. If anything, he’s approaching things with the clinicity of a scientist here.

Case in point: now that Shane knows Ryan is off the market, he can start filling in the blanks, like why Ryan sometimes doesn’t answer his texts for a couple hours. Scientifically, it stands to reason that he’s probably on a date and being gentlemanly by not staying glued to his phone. He could also be at a movie or playing basketball or any number of things that don’t lend themselves to easy text-checking access, but Shane’s brain brushes all these possibilities to the side in a way that isn't at all scientific.

Ryan is being uncharacteristically reticent about this maybe-relationship, and Shane can respect that. This doesn’t mean he can’t speculate about it.

All three of them have changed over the past year. Deciding to leave Buzzfeed wasn’t a spur of the moment decision; they each had to undergo a personal paradigm shift in order to get there. He, Steven, and Ryan have all gotten a little more serious, a little more executive, a little more capable of at least pretending to know what they’re doing.

But there have been other little differences popping up regarding Ryan in particular. Not just because of making the switch to company man and CEO extraordinaire, those are evident enough. These are things like asking for rain checks when Shane invites him to hang out. Grinning like a maniac for no apparent reason. Wearing more button-downs. Granted, these could all easily be side effects of the company man thing, but Shane didn’t notice him doing them until a couple months ago, which is conveniently when Ryan mentioned he started seeing someone. Shane can’t pinpoint exactly when these details started leaping out at him, but he thinks he can narrow it down. 

So he puts on his Hardy Boys hat and gets to narrowing. 

Started in March, Ryan had said. So Shane backtracks on their corporate Google calendar and cross-references that with Ryan’s, since Ryan shared it with him at one point and neither of them ever bothered to discuss it. This assuages Shane’s conscience somewhat. It’s not snooping if it’s something he’s able to access freely.

There’s been nothing on any of Ryan’s social media about a girlfriend, or rather, about this “not putting a label on it” friend who happens to be a girl. Shane is very aware of that; practically the first thing he did was scroll through Ryan’s Instagram looking for clues. There weren’t any, but Ryan updates far more often than Shane does himself, so it did help him flesh out his March-till-present timeline a little more.

They incorporated at the end of March. That was the biggest milestone, the one that blazes brightest in Shane’s mind, surrounded by gently fizzing champagne bubbles. True Crime season five premiered then, that was March too, but later. They were trying to pull together the bones of Tourist Trapped, Grocery Run, and Puppet History. They didn’t do much filming for Unsolved, just the La Llorona episode at the beginning of the month. Ryan could have hit a few bars with his bros on any given night and ended up meeting someone. 

Shane tries to recall any instance of Ryan showing up to work a little late, a little rumpled. He scrolls through their texts for any mention of a hangover, any picture of a drink, any _anything_ from Ryan that indicates he’s hooked up with someone. It takes forever, but Shane’s invested enough to scrutinize five billion texts before bed and there’s no one around to judge him but Obi. 

For possibly the first time ever, he wishes Ryan was a little more frat-boyish. It’s not like Ryan to walk of shame his way into work, hair askew and in yesterday’s clothes, but this late-night sleuthing would be so much easier if he was. The closest Ryan comes to that is bolting out of their room on two minutes’ sleep after spending the night somewhere haunted, which is more a walk of fear than anything. And even that didn’t happen at all in March. The only supposedly haunted places they visited were for the La Llorona episode, and in both locations they spent the night in perfectly unhaunted hotels. 

“Walk of shame is such a weirdly hostile term,” Shane mutters to Obi, finally setting his phone aside. “Why does there have to be shame, buddy? Does feline dating culture have this problem?”

Obi yawns. 

The memories come trickling back to him when Shane closes his eyes, mental snapshots from their trips to Colton and Las Cruces. 

He hasn’t thought too hard about either since they finalized the footage, but it was one of those rare Supernatural adventures that didn’t have them spending the night anywhere peppered with ghost lore. Shane had slept like a log in Colton, grateful to be in a relatively comfortable bed and even more grateful not to be kept awake by Ryan’s neuroses. Ryan had practically slept through the continental breakfast the next day, so Shane grabbed him a plate and some coffee and almost dropped everything trying to push the elevator button with his hands full. That stands out in his memory as one of the only times Ryan got more sleep on an Unsolved shoot than him.

And also because Ryan dazedly emerging from his blanket nest for coffee, tousle-haired and yawning, was memorable in its own right.

In Las Cruces, they hadn’t gotten to sleep in as much. The only reason Shane remembers this is because he woke up at some ungodly hour when the sun had barely cracked the horizon. Ryan was awake first, inexplicably, and he’d managed to wake Shane by spending a dog’s age trying to get his incessantly beeping keycard to work on their door.

Which is weird, now that he thinks about it. Why the hell was Ryan even outside the room to begin with?

Shane can’t recall, just recalls Ryan cursing under his breath and slipping back into their room smelling like lavender or sandalwood or some herby stuff Shane wasn’t sophisticated enough to identify by scent at the break of dawn. 

Also weird.

What the hell did Ryan get up to in New Mexico? Shane can’t think of any reason for him to have been up and about so early, not when their schedule didn't demand it. Unless he couldn’t sleep and went to the fitness center to tire himself out, but that doesn’t explain why he’d shown up smelling like sweetness instead of sweat.

Little fragments of recollection start coming together, slowly notching into each other. 

He remembers spouting off history facts that didn’t make it into the episode--Las Cruces, city of crosses and raids and manifest destiny and the distinct waft of colonialism. He remembers that. And the bridge where Ryan joked about having a threesome and Shane somehow didn't faint even a little bit, and the swings where they pushed each other, and passing out afterward once they finally fell into bed. And how La Llorona Park was on the banks of the Rio Grande, off a street called Picacho. And how Ryan had pronounced it Pikachu and how he and Curly had cracked up. 

And Curly. 

Curly had been there for every second of that.

Shane's mind catches on that thought like a skipping record.

It hasn’t escaped Shane’s notice that Ryan’s been spending more time with him lately, even though none of them have time to spare. Big deal. They’re friends. Friends do things. 

A line from a Spongebob song cheerfully bounces off the walls of Shane’s skull. _F is for friends who do stuff together..._

Unless.

Shane gives his head a shake, trying to clear it of all things Spongebob and Ryan. He’s only half successful. Also only half awake, which has to be why he’s forming conspiracy theories about his friends. 

And honestly, this has to all be in his imagination because Ryan is straight as an arrow. 

But if he’s not… 

Shane is just tired enough to let his brain take that what-if and run with it.

If they've wandered into some universe where Ryan is _not_ in fact straight as an arrow, then Shane’s a little miffed he didn’t realize and get a chance to throw his hat in the ring, even though he has no reason to believe Ryan and Curly are hooking up, even though he’s adopted not throwing hats in rings as a general best practice. 

It’s just that he’s pathetic and Ryan still hasn’t said another word about this person he’s sort-of seeing. His imagination can’t handle that.

And when did Ryan ever say he was seeing a _girl?_

Shane isn’t proud of it, but there have been times where he’s dodged the emotional labor of explaining his sexuality by just not specifying the gender of his partners. He never expected it from Ryan, never had reason to.

“What the fuck,” Shane announces, and sits up in bed.

He fumbles for his phone, goes back to Ryan’s Instagram, and bam.

There’s Curly, tagged in a picture of a sushi place. There’s both of them, chilling at the dog park. And over on Curly’s account, there’s what looks at first like a totally platonic picture of them at a street fair, but is it really? And, scrolling back more, there’s what looks like one of Curly’s mirror selfies, only it’s not a selfie and whoever’s taking the picture is partially visible in the glare of the mirror. Shane could pick those biceps out of a lineup blind.

It could all mean nothing. 

It could also mean considerably more than nothing.

It could mean that Ryan is having some kind of an awakening and Shane’s somehow missed every trace of it. It could mean that Curly’s picked up the slack and been giving him what he needs all this time. It could mean that Curly’s seen Ryan in all the ways Shane hasn’t, that he’s touched him until he’s desperate and flushed and aching, that he’s gotten to murmur filth and praises into his ear with a voice warped raw from kisses.

It could mean that Shane missed a shot he never knew he had.

And if he had known, he wants to believe he would have taken it. He wants to believe he would have been brave.

Shane doesn’t sleep much that night.

* * *

  
  


It drives him insane all week.

They aren’t spending much time in the Buzzfeed bullpen these days, but when they do, Shane’s senses are on high alert. 

He scrutinizes Curly every second he can, which doesn’t add up to much since Curly is always on the move. Always beaming and talking and being creative in two languages. Always being relentlessly charming. Always so attentive, like whoever he’s interacting with is the most fascinating person in the room.

It’s very easy to find Curly attractive. He’s a lovely person. Shane just can’t bring himself to actually interact with him beyond a cursory greeting before throwing on his headphones. 

He does, however, watch the way he and Ryan lean in towards each other when they chat. And he can’t help noticing it when they laugh in unison about something and their shoulders brush.

He’s reading way too much into this and he knows it, but he still can’t concentrate on his screen to save his life. Nothing he’s catching glimpses of from Ryan and Curly is different from how literally _any_ two people might laugh and brush shoulders. 

It’s also borderline impossible to tell when Curly’s being especially flirtatious and when he’s just being himself. Shane can’t gauge whether or not Ryan’s getting special treatment. 

Eventually he trains himself to stop stealing glances and actually do his job. He ignores them and redirects his attention and tells himself that’s the end of it. There’s nothing else to be done.

Ignoring it, unfortunately, only lasts until Friday. Ryan offhandedly remarks that he’s going over to Curly’s place once he’s done for the day and that’s the tipping point. All the questions and frustrations that have been boiling on the back burner of Shane’s psyche finally bubble over. He has to say something. 

Ryan is taking a breather in the Breather office when Shane comes to this conclusion. He's sprawled on his back with his hat over his eyes and an arm slung over his head, managing to look peaceful and powerful at the same time. 

So Shane does the obvious thing and drops Ryan’s day planner on his chest to get his attention. 

Ryan yelps and flails in a cartoonish flurry of limbs.

Maybe that shouldn’t make Shane grin more than he has in days, but it does.

Ryan bolts upright on their office couch, cupping his left pec protectively. “Jesus, what the fuck?”

Shane lifts his hands, palms outward, and puts on his best ‘who, me?’ face. “Just wanted to let you know I can finish up here.” 

“Very considerate of you, asshole,” Ryan mutters, retrieving his planner. “Always looking out for me.”

Shane pauses and weighs his next words carefully. Doubt is digging like a lead weight in his stomach, leaving him no choice but to blurt them out before he convinces himself not to. “I know you’ve got a date with Curly. You and your boy can go have some fun a little early.” 

Ryan flinches as if he's been shocked. “What? He's just giving me some advice. We're not...we're not…” 

“Not what?” 

He lets the pause stretch out between them like taffy. Ryan might lie by omission, but he won’t lie outright.

Glaciers melt in the time it takes Ryan to answer, but answer he does. “I'm not...like... _dating_ -dating him. It's not an exclusive thing.”

“Hey, it's 2019, you do you.” Shane thinks he sounds pretty good, nice and flippant, not at all like he’s just been mentally sucker punched.

Ryan, by contrast, sounds deadly serious. “I'm trying to figure out how to do me. How to do us.” 

Shane blinks at him. 

He waves a hand around the office. “I mean. The whole business thing.”

“Oh,” Shane says. “Right, that.”

“I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret,” Ryan continues, shamefaced. “I just didn’t know how to explain it. And then you dropped the bi bomb on me and I didn’t want to, like, hijack your moment by making it all about me.”

Even though Ryan seems genuinely contrite, that rankles. It isn’t his fault Ryan’s kept him in the dark, Shane knows this. But there’s a voice in the back of his head pointing out that he revealed something personal and that led to Ryan _not_ revealing something personal, so what’s the real moral of the story here? Shane shoves his hands into his pockets and tries to keep breathing. “Who else knows?”

“Just my roommates. A couple of Curly’s friends. And I think Steven might.”

Shane's chest contracts. “But not me.”

There's a plaintive cast to Ryan's words. “You know now.”

“Because I guessed,” Shane points out, aware that he’s being petty. “Not because you told me.” 

“It’s not because I wasn’t _going_ to--” Ryan starts.

Shane doesn’t interrupt people often. He’s a laid back guy who has no issue waiting for his turn to speak, he grew up being taught that it was rude, and he’s deeply conscious of not being that huge tall jerk that talks over everyone. 

Ryan is the exception. He and Ryan talk over each other all the time, but it’s almost always good-natured banter. Shane doesn’t cut him off to be an asshole. Except now.

“I’ll be honest, this will probably make sense to me later, but right now I need a little time to sulk. You've got plans anyway.” 

And now Ryan is gaping at him like Shane just punched a hole in the wall.

“We don’t have much stuff left to finish and I’m not gonna be very good company if you stay,” Shane adds, raising one shoulder. “Just. Let me have this, okay?”

There’s a long, stilted silence punctuated only by the murmur of Steven’s voice on the phone outside.

Ryan looks like he’s on the verge of saying something and Shane desperately wills him not to. He doesn’t know what the hell might come pouring out of his mouth if Ryan tries to continue this conversation. 

“Take all the time you need.” Ryan’s voice is brittle, a dead leaf underfoot. 

He turns to gather his things and an icy finger of terror skims down Shane’s spine. There’s a stiffness to Ryan’s movements, a refusal to glance Shane’s way. As much as Shane hates that he brought that out of him, the damage is done. He can’t play this off as a joke or shove the words back into his mouth. All he can do is clench his jaw against saying anything else.

Between them, they’ve told too many truths already.

This is what Shane tries to tell himself as Ryan shoulders his backpack and disappears out the door.

* * *

There are texts.

Ryan decides to work remotely the next day, which sends a stab of guilt through Shane’s gut. But, after going dark ever since Shane essentially told him to get the fuck out, there are texts.

Ryan’s messages start off cordial, which is very generous of him.

_Hey man hope you're not still sulking_

Then they shift to work-related topics in the group chat.

_So I accidentally confirmed a meeting during vidcon because I forgot about vidcon_

_Help_

_How do I walk this back, pls advise_

Then it's back to just Shane, and that’s when they really take off. 

_Okay_

_So this is kind of hard to explain but basically we’re doing the casual fwb thing_

_Curly’s been helping me figure some stuff out and I didn’t want to bowl you over with tmi or anything, also_

Shane has no idea how to process this. That dangling _also_ could signify the end of a sentence or the beginning of another.

He waits for Ryan to clarify, but Ryan seems to think he’s reached an appropriate stopping point. 

Shane teeters on the edge of several potential responses. He wants to respect Ryan’s privacy or his sexuality crisis or whatever the fuck this is by not prying, he really does. It’s just that he also wants to know absolutely everything. Ryan has never been this reticent before about who he’s seeing. The guy is a picture of a serial monogamist. Shane hasn’t ever known him to casually mess around. Then again, two weeks ago he thought Ryan was the picture of a hetero dudebro.

 _Bowl away_ , he finally texts, figuring that’s a good middle ground. _I can handle it._

Ryan isn't having it. _Can you though? Remember I’ve seen you bowl before..._

Shane sends back a string of the first bowl-related emoji he finds, which happens to be 🍜🍜🍜 and waits in vain for Ryan to reply. 

Then, suddenly inspired on a couple different levels, he makes an excuse to snag Steven for lunch. 

He doesn't intend to interrogate Steven over steaming bowls of beef pho. But Ryan said something about Steven possibly knowing about him and Curly, and also pho sounds good. That, and Shane is emotionally raw enough to be swayed by noodle emojis and the vague possibility of information at this point.

Steven requires no convincing at all. He has pho facts and menu recommendations at the ready and he talks Shane’s ear off about the last meeting with their financial adviser. In a way only Steven can, he seems very enthusiastic about it, which is perfect because almost none of what he’s saying makes any sense to Shane. 

“Without you, this whole business baby would have died on the table,” he tells Steven after they’ve ordered. “I can’t believe you enjoy this part of it, but we’d seriously be six feet under if you didn’t.”

“Wow, that’s morbid,” chirps Steven. “Thanks?”

“Can you imagine me trying to get through any kind of professional number-crunching meeting? Or Ryan?”

Steven gives a modest dip of his head, but doesn’t deny it. “Man, but how much fun would it be to watch him try?” He cheerfully snaps a few pictures of his tea. “Ryan’s missing out, gotta document the good times we’re having without him.”

“Ryan decided he had better stuff to do,” Shane says, forcing himself to sound jovial. “Polish his katana, check his holster of holy water. The usual.”

“I actually don’t think the holy water thing is that crazy of an idea,” Steven says, because he’s far less judgmental than Shane. “It’s kind of Van Helsing and it was a good bit for you guys.”

“Do not ever say that to Ryan,” Shane warns. “He’ll gloat forever.”

Steven lets out an incredulous squeak. “Oh, definitely not.”

Even though he’s not in the room, Ryan still constitutes a sizable chunk of their conversation. Shane tries to steer it in a few different directions, but he just pops right back up every damn time like some obnoxious incorporeal groundhog. 

He and Steven are comparing sleep schedules when their food comes out. The conclusion is that they’re pretty fucking bad and not likely to improve with Unsolved’s Annabelle episode and season six of Worth It filming over the same few days. Then Steven mentions how weird it is that Ryan’s probably the most well-rested of all of them and Shane absolutely is not crude enough to say he’s also the one swimming in the most endorphins. But he does concede that if all roads lead to Ryan, which they clearly do, he might as well cut to the chase.

“Okay,” Shane says, steeling himself up. “I actually have a question for you and it would be weird to ask it in front of Ryan.”

Steven gives him a wary look. “If this is about you guys and your freaking demon doll episode...”

“It’s not,” Shane says, and goes for it: “Did you know that Ryan and Curly had a thing? Are a thing?”

Steven’s spoon pauses halfway to his mouth.

“A sexy thing,” Shane clarifies unhelpfully.

Steven glances between Shane and his spoon, apparently deciding which one to address first. He goes with the latter, taking a long slow swallow of broth as if he’s fortifying himself for whatever comes next. Then he gently sets the spoon down and proceeds to rock Shane’s world. “No. But I saw them kissing a couple times.”

“Hang on, you saw them kissing on multiple occasions and _didn't_ know they were a thing?”

“There are a lot of things I don't know about people,” Steven says, infuriatingly pragmatic. “Besides, Buzzfeed is a pretty liberated workplace. Not to shame him or anything, but I was kind of under the impression a lot of people have kissed Curly. _I’ve_ kissed Curly.”

“What.”

“It was nice,” Steven offers, more focused on snagging a clump of noodles between his chopsticks than with Shane slowly imploding across the table. “I mean, I don’t have much to compare it to, but his lips are very well moisturized.” 

There’s a very long pause, during which Steven digs back into his pho and Shane wonders if that tiny house episode of Worth It Lifestyle got wild off camera. Part of him wants to ask, but, in keeping with the very irritating order of the last few days, he can’t seem to put his thoughts into coherent words.

“Have _you_ kissed Curly?” Steven asks. “Because if you'd like to, I'm sure he'd be open to the possibility.”

“It's not that. I just…” Shane still can't speak.

Steven eyes him and takes a delicate sip of water. Shane watches helplessly as he goes about mentally removing Curly from the equation and honing in on the only remaining variable. “Oh. _Duh_.”

“When did you see them?” Shane blurts out, before Steven can start asking his own follow-up questions.

Steven finishes a mouthful of beef before answering, which is very polite and incredibly agonizing of him. “Okay, so one time Curly was over when we were playing Smash Brothers and he just, like, leaned over and planted one on him. Which, by the way, totally distracted me and made me lose. I thought he meant it as a joke at first, like maybe that’s why he did it, but Ryan was just _bright_ red.” 

He launches a double-handed attack on his pho, spoon and chopsticks together. Shane forces himself to take a few bites of his own so he doesn’t try to shake the words out of him. 

“Uh, and one time Curly picked him up after basketball, but I don't think they knew I saw. And once in the parking garage, where they definitely didn’t know I saw and I wasn’t gonna be the creepy guy in the parking garage going ‘hey, I can see you kissing,’ you know?”

Shane stares.

“So you and Ryan…”

A mirthless bark of a laugh leaps out of Shane’s throat. “I _really_ don't want to talk about it.” 

“That’s okay,” Steven says, complacent. “Maybe you should, though. Oh, dude, wanna split the mango sticky rice?”

He’s never been more thankful for Steven in his life, Shane decides. And that includes the day he agreed to join Watcher and handle all the nitty-gritty spreadsheet stuff making him and Ryan break out in hives.

They part ways afterward. Steven heads back to the office and Shane has to make a craft store run. His mostly-constructed Puppet History stage needs a few reinforcements before they start shooting in a few weeks. 

Steven texts him as he’s contemplating the merits of puff paint: _just do not google shyan and make yourself even more bummed out/weirded out, ok?_

This, at least, is something that hadn’t even occurred to Shane. If there are fan-generated versions of him out there that are happily OTP-ing it up with Ryan, good for them. _Like you've never looked up standrew,_ he fires back.

 _The college in Scotland?_ Steven answers innocently.

Then, less innocently: _(^_^;)_

That makes him chortle in spite of himself. _Thanks for chatting,_ Shane types. _It helped and that was some damn good pho._

 _Yay pho!!!_ Steven agrees.

And, a minute later: _Chat with Ryan next. It'll help more（ ＾ν＾）_

  
  


* * *

Shane does not chat with Ryan. 

They shoot the Annabelle episode and, by mutual silent agreement, act as if everything is totally normal.

The thing is, Shane doesn’t mind that. He’s almost willing to get swept up in the illusion as long as it means they don’t have to address anything too heavy. This isn’t a healthy response by any stretch of the imagination, but at least he’s _aware_ it’s not healthy, so shouldn’t he get some points for that?

Then Ryan posts a picture to his Instagram simply captioned “tired.” He’s sprawled facedown on his unmade bed, shirtless. The landscape of his back belongs in a museum and the basketball shorts riding up his thighs belong in an incinerator. 

Shane’s about to leave a comment pointing out the latter when it occurs to him Ryan can’t have taken this picture himself. He scrutinizes every pixel, trying to catch a glimpse of Curly in the mirrored closet doors, then remembers Ryan has two roommates who are perfectly capable of wielding a phone.

But it’s too late. His reptilian brain has already decided the hand of Curly is behind this, which means it’s a quick, slippery slope into picturing them in Ryan's bed together. His thoughts have tilted this way before and Shane has always tried his best to nip it in the bud because that way madness lies. It doesn’t even have to be a particularly lewd mental image; he’d tormented himself for hours after Steven shared that tidbit about them stealing a kiss over Smash Bros. And now it’s almost too easy to think of what Ryan and Curly might have gotten up to after taking that picture. Shane forces himself to keep his speculations PG, but it’s more than enough to play out a few scenes of Curly taking Ryan’s face in his hands and Ryan’s eyes sliding closed, the two them kissing languidly until they drift into sleep together, fitting together as easily as a pair of cupped hands.

He has to put his phone aside and go for a run. It _definitely_ isn’t healthy to just sit there imagining them. 

Unfortunately, by the time he gets back and braves checking his phone again, there's a picture up on Curly’s account too.

Ryan, the main attraction, is well and truly passed out in it, still prone and sans shirt. This one, though, is clearly a selfie. Curly is perched on the edge of the bed, a fondly exasperated look on his face, and the caption reads “guess we're not planning for vidcon tonight after all.” 

That makes Shane's heart jump for a few reasons. Number one, he was fucking _right_. Two, it's his first time seeing them looking so intimate (even though, yes, it could just be platonic, there's nothing remotely sexual happening, but he _knows better)_. Third, this is a stomach-churning reminder that Vidcon is less than a month away and Curly is supposed to moderate the Unsolved Q & A. 

There is no way in hell Shane is going to survive that.

The odds of him surviving _until_ then aren’t looking too good either.

He can’t go through life pretending that this isn’t a big deal. Like Ryan’s sudden bisexual blossoming hasn’t reawakened all the thoughts he’s been diverting himself away from for literal _years_. Like he isn’t dying for Ryan to wrestle him into bed and pin him down laughing, then let Shane get his hands on the soft swell of his ass and his lips anywhere he likes.

He can’t put it off any longer. It’s a horrible realization to swallow, but it’s basically life and death at this point. They need to talk about this or Shane is going to die. 

The problem is that they’ve got a full calendar the next day and part of it is with the Unsolved team at the Buzzfeed office. Chances of crossing paths with Curly are dangerously high. 

The universe is on his side for once, because Shane gets through the morning without seeing him. Or losing his train of thought during their meeting. Or staring too hard at the spectacle of Ryan’s arms in a powder blue button-down. 

Lunchtime, when Curly pops up to snag Ryan for street tacos, not so much. 

“You in, Shane?” he asks, and that’s when Shane feels the first hairline cracks in his sanity. 

It wouldn’t drive him quite so insane if Curly just acted like this was anything but normal. Instead, he’s standing there with his smile and jewelry and glasses sparkling and Shane can barely bring himself to look at him.

He knows he should be grateful. Curly is just as chill and friendly as ever, and if he’s picking up on any weirdness from Shane’s end then he does a great job of pretending not to. Shane tries very hard not to resent this. But even if Curly _wasn’t_ the sweetest person on the planet, Shane can’t just haul him up by his lapels and demand to know why he's fucking his best friend. That's not cool, it's not his nature, and Curly isn't wearing anything with lapels today. 

“C’mon, I know you’re all about that al pastor,” Ryan urges.

“I’m gonna sit this one out and get something later,” he says. “Thanks, though.”

Ryan gives him a strange look, but doesn’t comment. Shane pretends not to notice.

Back at Watcher HQ in the afternoon, there’s no hiding it. Ryan plops down at his desk beside him and takes the bull by the horns. He turns those big earnest eyes on Shane from less than a foot away and says, “Hey, I’m sorry,” and Shane practically crumbles into dust.

Ryan, fortunately, doesn’t seem to expect a reply. “I didn’t mean to make stuff weird with us or, like, put you on the spot with the taco thing. I just wanted to get food with my pals, not make you feel like a third wheel or whatever.” He breaks eye contact in favor of staring fixedly at the ceiling as if he’s gathering strength from it. “You’re never gonna be that to me, you know that, right?” 

“All this because I didn’t get tacos with you guys?” Shane says, laughing weakly.

Ryan’s answering smile is just as wan. “You’re not that subtle, you know.” 

Shane frantically scans the office for Steven and, failing that, tries to psychically transmit an SOS to him. “I…listen, it’s not what you think.”

“You can’t keep avoiding Curly and acting all awkward around me forever,” Ryan continues. Shane freezes and bites the inside of his cheek to guard against any additional self-incrimination. “That's just dumb, not to mention impossible to maintain. So we might as well talk about whatever’s bugging you so we can...I dunno, regain equilibrium?”

Even though Shane can finally admit this to himself, he can’t bring himself to admit it out loud. But it’s true. They don’t have long before Watcher goes public and, no matter how much he hates confrontation, they’ve got to get themselves on even footing before then. 

“Sure,” he forces out. “Let’s get the elephants out of the room. Or talk about them, I guess? What even happens after you address the elephant in the room anyway, does it just pack up its trunk and leave?”

“No clue. I just want to be able to get tacos with my pals like the old days,” Ryan says wistfully. His smile spreads, starting to reach his eyes this time.

“And I just want my pals to tell me the truth,” Shane replies, shrugging. “Instead of making me guess what the hell is going on with them.”

Suddenly Ryan isn’t smiling at all. “Whoa. I thought we went over this?” 

“No, I don’t believe we did,” Shane’s words come out more crisply than he means them to, sharp-edged. “You acted like it was this big injustice I never told you I was into dudes, even though you were doing the same damn thing. It’s been a little hard for me to reconcile that.” 

“Yeah, I bet.” Ryan leans back in his seat, jaw tight. “Look, we were both pretty high that night, right? And even if I hadn’t been, I don’t think I would’ve known what to say. It was just really new for me and I didn’t know how to...I didn’t know.” He trails off.

Shane quirks a brow at him. “Congrats on figuring it out, I guess? Who knew being in your late twenties means you suddenly think you might like dick.”

But he doesn't sound droll and lighthearted the way he meant to. He sounds harsh, judgmental. He sounds like a complete fucking asshole.

Ryan, understandably, frowns at him. “Wow, okay. So I’ve suspected I might, quote unquote, like dick for a few years now. I’m just now getting comfortable enough to admit it. Thanks for the support, that’s cool of you.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Shane says quietly.

“Did I act this way when you came out?” Ryan demands. He’s already turning away and Shane can’t think of a single thing to say to keep him there. “Pretty sure I didn’t. Empathy goes a long way, you know.” 

And then he’s heaving himself to his feet, face drawn. Even now, Shane can’t take his eyes off him, mesmerized by the fall of his hair over his forehead, the stark cut of his sleeves across his biceps. 

“If you guys need me, I’m gonna be editing shit from home. I think I need a change of scene today.”

Shane drops his head into his hands to the accompaniment of Ryan’s departing footsteps.

An indefinite time later, he looks up when the clink of a metal straw alerts him to someone else’s presence. 

“So,” Steven says, taking a sip of his iced matcha in a way that strongly reminds Shane of Kermit the Frog drinking tea. “Remember that part where you were gonna talk to him?” 

* * *

This time, he takes the plunge. 

And by the plunge, he means texting Ryan to ask if he can come over that evening. _I’ll pick up food on the way_ , he adds a little desperately when Ryan doesn’t respond. _Thai okay? I know you’ve already gotten your taco fix._

That gets him a reply.

_Yeah as long as we’re done by 9. Roland got dumped so we’re taking him for laser tag_

Shane can work with that.

At least, he thinks he can until he shows up at Ryan’s apartment a little early with two bags of takeout and Curly opens the door.

“Oh,” he says, “you’re early.”

Shane has half a mind to shove the food at him and bolt, but Curly is already holding the door open for him. “Come on in, Ryan’s in the bathroom.”

He follows Curly inside, numb, and sets the bags on Ryan’s kitchen table before wandering back out to the living room and lingering there uncertainly. It feels wrong to slump onto the couch like he normally would.

Curly isn’t sitting either, so Shane just hangs out where he is, feeling more like he’s wandered into a model home than his best friend’s apartment. He was all set to lay his cards on the table for Ryan's perusal, but he didn't anticipate doing it in front of someone else too. And he knows he should say something, that an apology would not go amiss here, but Curly is already speaking before Shane can open his mouth.

“You’re gonna be fine, you know that, right?” His voice is more gentle than Shane deserves and he doesn’t seem to be harboring any resentment whatsoever. 

Before Shane can reply to that, Ryan comes into the room. 

“Oh.” He glances between them. “Look who’s here. Hey.”

Shane winces and gives him a jerky wave. He can feel himself going hot and itchy with nerves, anxiety spreading from his toes to his belly to the hollows of his collarbones. He can't be sure if it's from fear or frustration or something else; there are too many potential sources to narrow it down.

“I didn’t mean to be a dick,” he offers. 

Ryan’s brow twitches. “Noted.”

The resulting silence is thick enough to smother them all.

Curly takes a step towards the door. “You know what, you two have some things to get to. I can see myself out.” 

“No,” Ryan says immediately, something unidentifiable sparking through his eyes. “You should stay. Just a little longer?”

Shane can’t look at either of them for more than a second at a time. Curly’s going to want to start munching popcorn if he hangs around to watch this unfold, but he’s going to find out anyway. Shane might as well blurt things out while he’s got the will, so he does. 

“I'm not mad at you, I'm just being a jealous jerk.”

Ryan just stares at him, impassive.

Curly, though, his face softens with understanding. “Shane, baby, no.”

“I know this is like the worst timing ever,” Shane continues, his pulse pounding in his temples, “but them’s the facts. This Bergara guy, uh, he’s a good egg.” 

And Ryan, as if on cue, cracks just like one. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Shush, you’re gonna scare him off,” Curly chides him. “What Ryan’s trying to say is he's so full of feelings he's ready to pop his little cork, aren't you? Can't keep it in forever.” He gives Ryan’s hand a squeeze and turns back to Shane. “He’s been talking you up for a while now and wanting to feel you up since Test Friends, that’s what he told me.”

Ryan grimaces. “Not in those words exactly. But yeah.”

Literally nothing about this makes sense. Shane feels blindly for the back of the couch and slumps against it, relishing the feel of something real and solid. “But you...him…”

“It's not the first time I've been someone's gateway gay,” Curly says archly. “You've been a part of this from the start, but I'll let Ryan tell you about that once it’s just you two.” 

“Shane, what the fuck, I _told_ you I was figuring shit out,” Ryan whines. “And it’s not my fault you were a stealth bisexual Sasquatch this whole time on top of being all emotionally stunted. How the fuck was I supposed to pick up on that?”

“Stealth Bisexual Sasquatch is the name of the band we’re all starting, effective immediately.”

Ryan looks ready to strangle him, but also like he’s about to dissolve into laughter. This, at least, is as familiar as coming home. Shane catches himself grinning before he even realizes he’s doing it.

Curly preens. “See, told you he’d take it well.” He regards Ryan over the rims of his glasses. “So, you told him about me, but only after he’d already figured it out. I’m gonna assume that means he doesn’t know about the other new thing you're trying?”

Ryan has a rather abashed look on his face. “Uh, no.” 

“I can't believe you managed to hide it this long.” Curly sounds impressed.

Shane furrows his brow, completely lost yet again.

There’s a catlike smile creeping across Curly’s face as his fingers creep across Ryan’s shoulders. “While we're doing dramatic reveals…”

Ryan, for whatever reason, lets out a stunned giggle.

And then Curly is nuzzling the side of his face, purring, “You wanna show him, sweetie? Can we show you off for him?” and Ryan’s eyelids flutter closed when he nods.

Curly gives him a kiss, pressing his lips slow and soft to the apex of Ryan’s jaw. It’s shockingly intimate for such a chaste gesture, but Shane couldn’t avert his eyes if he wanted to. Then Curly starts working at Ryan’s shirt buttons, shifting behind him as he does so, watching his progress over Ryan’s shoulder.

And, Shane realizes, giving him an unobstructed view of whatever the hell is about to be revealed. Did Ryan go out and get Curly’s name tattooed on him? Did he get _Shane’s_ name tattooed on him? Is there a huge Watcher Entertainment chest piece he doesn’t know about? The room is dead still aside from the sound of rustling fabric and the clink of Curly’s bangles. There’s a strange sort of ceremony to this, whatever it is. Shane tilts his head and waits.

The last button slips free, leaving Ryan’s shirt hanging open from navel to neck. 

Curly draws the fabric apart a little more, displaying him. 

Shane's breath hisses in.

“You can touch, if he’s okay with it,” Curly says conversationally. “Be gentle, though. He's still healing. These things take forever to heal.” He rubs a thumb over Ryan’s right nipple, which is flushed deep pink and looks so bare compared to the other. 

That one, the left, is pierced with a tiny silver barbell. Subtle enough that it's not obvious through Ryan’s shirt, but glinting like a captive star now that it’s out of the way.

“When did you…” Shane can’t finish, can’t do anything but gape.

“Couple months ago,” Ryan mumbles, glancing at him with a mixture of shyness and pride. “Curly went with me after Las Cruces.”

Shane tries to recall that last time he saw Ryan’s bare chest and can’t, which is alarming in and of itself. “How the fuck did you hide it?”

“Willpower and lots of shirts with pockets on the left side for extra insulation. I didn’t want people to notice.”

“Why?” Shane scrutinizes him, riveted by the gleam of silver against Ryan’s tight nipple. “It looks...good. Holy shit. And clearly you like it.”

“That’s what I told him!” Curly says triumphantly. “That you let ’em look and work the hell out of it even if they're being judgy. It’s like when you roll up to work wearing this beautiful vintage serape and someone’s like ‘hey, nice drug rug,’ and you want to smack them for not appreciating culture when they see it. But then you take a minute to pull yourself together because you know you’ve got on something that makes you happy and that’s what matters. So if anyone’s looking at your titties, then just let them appreciate it and fuck ’em if they don’t.” He pinches one of Ryan’s nipples, the unpierced one, and Ryan lets out a small sound that makes Shane’s breath stutter. “It’s not like people aren’t doing that already.”

“Hey, this is a process,” Ryan protests weakly, his body settling back against Curly’s with the ease of sinking into a favorite chair. “My comfort level is moving along, okay.”

Curly snorts, still tracing idle patterns across his chest with two tattooed fingertips. “Uh-huh. Ryan here is worried his shelf life is limited. He’d never had anything pierced or tattooed and he was afraid he was going to miss the window for it. I tried to tell him the window is whenever the heck you want it to be, but he decided this was something that had to happen before he hit thirty.”

“Right, that,” Ryan confirms.

Upstairs, a door swings open, completely shattering the moment and almost giving Shane a heart attack. Two seconds later, one of Ryan’s roommates comes bounding down the stairs with a gym bag slung over one shoulder. Impressively, he takes in the living room tableau without batting an eye. 

Ryan inclines his head in an incongruous what’s-up-bruh nod. “Danny, hey, didn’t know you were home.”

“Pre-workout power nap,” Danny replies, his eyes flitting over Ryan’s exposed skin. “Sick, man, you finally coming out of the nipple closet?” 

“And many more,” Ryan says dryly. 

“Awesome, see y’all later. Motherfucking laser tag!” Danny makes what Shane guesses is supposed to be a laser noise and disappears out the front door.

For a beat, the three of them just stare blankly at each other.

Curly is the first to break, hiding a laugh against Ryan’s temple. “I think that’s my cue to get going too. You guys have got some pretty important things to talk about,” he murmurs, face ducked into Ryan’s nape. 

Shane doesn't miss the way Ryan clutches at him, makes an abortive grasping motion before stopping himself, looking so nervous and innocent despite having his shirt hanging open. And Curly just smooths a hand down his back and kisses his cheek, whispers things not meant to reach Shane’s ears that have Ryan nodding and pulling in a shaky breath. 

Then he’s leveling a long, calm look at Shane over Ryan's shoulder. “Like I said. Be gentle.”

As if Shane could be anything else. He nods.

He’s still gaping at Ryan when Curly disappears out the door. Ryan dips his chin, watching him through lowered lashes.

“Explain?” Shane says, at a loss.

Ryan, to his credit, does try. The words pour out of him, and though a lot of them only make minimal sense to Shane, they clearly mean a lot to Ryan. Something about being almost thirty and not wanting to be afraid of taking the plunge into new things. Things including, but not limited to, stiff like businesses and piercings and relationships.

“So Curly is one of the new things you wanted to plunge into?” Shane can’t help asking when Ryan pauses for breath.

Ryan groans and laughs at the same time, dragging a hand over his face. “Unbelievable. You didn't get the urge to be a little wild when you were my age?”

“I'm not a total curmudgeon,” Shane protests, more out of habit than conviction.

“Uh-huh,” Ryan says. “Sure.”

“I mean, okay, I have some curmudgeonly tendencies, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to get a little crazy sometimes. I don’t blaze it and share my sexuality with just anyone.” He gives Ryan a sidelong glance. “But I guess neither do you.”

“Still not letting that go, huh?” Ryan smiles, shaking his head. “I couldn't just come out when you did and make the moment all about me. That's not cool.”

“I don’t know, I think it might've been pretty cool.”

“What, like we bare our souls to each other and then bare our bodies?” Ryan snorts.

Shane shrugs, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. “Hey. I wouldn't have minded.”

And Ryan surprises him again. Instead of bantering back, he chews his lip and lets his voice drop a little lower. “I still wouldn't.”

Everything shifts.

“You've got a good start,” Shane says, matching Ryan’s tone and gaze with great deliberation. He lets himself stare openly for the first time, lets Ryan see him looking, lets Ryan realize just how badly he wants to touch.

Ryan steps closer and a lick of want unfurls between Shane's legs.

“So,” says Ryan, and slides his shirt the rest of the way off. The piercing glints as if beckoning Shane closer, and who is he to fight that?

Shane remembers reading somewhere that the body makes over a million red blood cells every second. Every last one of them is in his dick.

“Can I touch it?” he asks finally.

“Yeah.”

Shane hesitates, fingers twitching.“You _want_ me to touch it?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says shakily.

He’s so close, a breath away from grazing the slight swell of Ryan’s chest, the warmth of his skin. “You want me to touch...you.”

The world narrows. Nothing exists but Ryan, lips parted and nodding frantically.

Shane squeezes his eyes closed, hardly letting himself believe any of this.

Ryan swallows into the silence that lingers between them. “Only if that's what you want too.”

“I know what I want,” Shane says honestly. “I just don’t know if...can I have it, though?”

And Ryan looks so vulnerable, like Shane's been flayed open and he's hurting _for_ him. “Yeah, big guy. You can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do stuff at makemadej.tumblr.com if you want to send gif requests or writing prompts :3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: don’t do stuff to nipple piercings that are still healing! I’m taking some liberties here, or let’s just assume Ryan is a bionically quick healer. He's been pierced for about three months, which is not typically long enough to start getting mouth-on-nip action. Also, pls don’t take piercing advice from the author’s notes of really verbose porn 😄

  
  
  


There are things he’s done with Curly that make Ryan’s mind reel. He looks back on moments that happened as recently as yesterday and it’s as if he was someone else, someone bolder and stronger and more eager to throw himself against the rocks of possibility.

With Curly, there was always a joy in the freefall of it all. Ryan leaped in with a hazy awareness of what he expected and a very keen awareness of how many experiences he hadn’t yet had. And when Curly grabbed his hand, he held on tight for the ride as they zipped through sexual milestones like a trip down Grizzly River Run, only way less family-friendly. Any hesitation was an opportunity to learn and laugh and work through it, which—because Curly is a veritable Hallmark store of a human being and always knows just what Ryan needs to hear—they always did.

Curly, from the very start, had been an absolute virtuoso at teaching him to relax. When Ryan’s body tensed up too hard for his own comfort, no matter how willing his mind was, Curly had rubbed him lax and gleaming with massage oil, worked him over until Ryan was spread and slick around two of his fingers. He’d murmured things in Ryan’s ear that would have sounded demeaning coming from anyone else, but were low and sincere and full of promise because they came from him. “Poor baby, too tight to let me in. Don’t be scared, sweetie, I’m gonna take care of you. I can lick you till you’re begging for something inside, you think you’d like to try that sometime? _”_

Ryan has never met anyone who can make the filthiest things sound so sweet, and he doubts he ever will. It’s just one of Curly’s many, many strong suits. 

In the three months and change since that night in Las Cruces, he’s never once resorted to impatience or mockery, no matter how easy Ryan makes it for him. Ryan’s lost count of how many times he’s fumbled, overwhelmed by his own clumsiness, only to get the gentle push of tattooed hands through his hair, the soft brush of lips and beard over his lips, his neck, the dips of his collarbone. 

“Here’s what you’re gonna do for me, okay?” Curly had instructed, when Ryan buried his face in a pillow from embarrassment after yet another failed attempt to lose his butt virginity (“ _Please_ stop calling it that,” Curly had begged, which just made Ryan double down and possibly invite karmic retribution). 

Ryan hadn’t been able to answer beyond a groan, too busy wishing his body didn’t turn into an infinity mirror of tension at the most inconvenient moments. But Curly wasn’t deterred at all; he’d gone right on peppering kisses along Ryan’s shoulder blade between sentences. “Shh, you’re not the first guy to be too tense to fuck, so stop thinking you are, okay? It’s just gonna get you stuck in a shame spiral and you don’t need to do that to yourself, I promise. Can you do that for me?” 

His voice cloaked Ryan’s frayed nerves like velvet, so soft and entreating that Ryan couldn’t help but nod even though he still couldn’t bring himself to even think about making eye contact.

“Good,” Curly murmured. “Here’s what else I want you to do for me. When you think you’re ready to try this, you’re gonna treat yourself to a really long shower. You’re going to get yourself all nice and clean everywhere, and I’m talking _everywhere_ , and then you’re going to soak in a bath to get yourself as relaxed as possible. Get your groove back, get rid of all that anxiousness, and just chill. Then I’m gonna get my mouth on you, right here **.”** And he’d rubbed a thumb between Ryan’s cheeks, easing them apart, sliding a finger against the slick little clench of his hole. Not pressing inward, just toying with the rim of him without slipping inside, which was more than enough to make Ryan’s hips roll back and his breath tangle into a gasp. “And if you’re not taking dick like a boss by the time I’m done with you, we’ll just have to try again.”

Ryan finally turned over, face burning. “Okay...and where are you while I’m getting my groove back?”

Curly just gave a flippant flick of his hand, like his own needs were secondary. That was something Ryan would come back to eventually, when he wasn’t blushing hard enough to set the sheets on fire. “I’ll hang out while you’re taking your time, don’t you worry about me.” He had smiled then, slow and silky. “Or you can just call me when you’re ready and I’ll come over and get to tongue-fucking.”

That had made Ryan hesitate long enough to swallow a wisecrack about UberEats. “Can I put in a request for this to happen at your place instead?” He likes Curly’s apartment, the religious icons and plants and the way it revels in tawdry juxtapositions, where the Virgen de Guadalupe hangs out beside a vintage jewelry box Curly uses for storing lube and condoms instead of his considerable stash of actual jewelry. Privacy is just an added bonus. “I've got roommates and I'm loud,” he said bluntly. “If we do this in my room, we might as well stick an ‘ass eating in progress’ sign on the door.” 

Curly had just chuckled, his face all warmth and fondness. “You're not into that?”

Ryan reached for him then, kissed him through a smile and let himself be kissed in return. “I’m still figuring out what I’m into, but I’m pretty sure about this one.”

Long story short, Curly is a man of his word and Ryan now has very little cause to use the phrase butt virginity.

And later, after he’d been fucked for the first time and decided it was full steam ahead for penetration station, Curly had been right there for him, patient as ever and at the ready with a piercer he positively swore by. Ryan only postponed the appointment once, out of sheer jitters that led to him cracking a couple of beers beforehand. It had seemed both rude and irresponsible to get a hole poked in him with booze in his blood. He’d also gotten into the habit of not drinking around Curly, not because Curly had ever mentioned it but because it just seemed like the considerate thing to do. He’d laid a kiss on him after brunch one time, a few Bloody Marys singing through his system, and felt Curly give a jolt at the taste of alcohol on his tongue. He’s already thrown enough potential stressors into Curly’s life; there’s no reason to be a dick and stack them up even higher.

When it did happen, though, Ryan had gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to flinch away from the forceps. He had felt vertigo clutching him like an undertow, and clinging to Curly’s hand as the needle pushed in was the only thing that kept him from being swept away. He still barely remembered the procedure itself. Any painfulness was overshadowed by Curly’s lips on his temple afterward, the grounding pressure of his hand smoothing up and down his back, and the very important detour they took to pick up Carl’s Jr on the way back to Ryan’s place. 

Mostly, what he remembered was Curly praising him when they were alone together afterward. Taking him home and laying him out and ushering his shirt off to look at him. Ryan’s breath had caught when he glanced over at his reflection in the closet doors. His left nipple didn’t actually feel that different, but in the mirror it was swollen and berry-bright and pierced right through the center with that stark silver barbell. “Holy shit,” he informed his own stunned face. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“We’re gonna have so much fun with you,” Curly had murmured, and leaned down to press the most feather-light of kisses to the center of his chest.

What he failed to mention was just how much patience was involved before anything fun could happen. 

It took some training to keep Ryan from absently fiddling with it, poking and prodding at his chest until he felt raw with regret. Getting his hands bound to the headboard was very effective, but a short-term solution at best. Curly, in an uncharacteristically underhanded move, eventually texted him a series of pictures of infected piercings. That had Ryan on the verge of throwing his phone out the window, but it worked. He was meticulous about keeping the piercing site clean and leaving it alone no matter how fidgety his fingers were. 

He’d adapted by transferring all those impulses onto Curly instead. 

Curly had been so attentive to him, so easy to fall into a rhythm with. Even though he was clearly comfortable with his own body’s preferences, he showed no sign of minding while Ryan tottered along still trying to figure out his own. 

Ryan hadn’t been very eloquent about it when he said he wanted to give back, to learn more about what he liked and how to give it to him. He’d gotten his point across, however awkwardly, and Curly had guided him through every step. His voice spilling out sweetness that sent shivers over Ryan’s skin, lashes flitting against his cheeks and his hips moving in a sinuous rolling motion as Ryan slid another finger inside him. “You’re doing just fine, baby, There's a good boy, Get me nice and wet, there you go. You can never use too much lube. Or spit, if you're in a tight spot.” 

He had cringed then, for no fault of Ryan’s. “No pun intended. Fuck, that was so bad.” 

That had sent them both into a giggle fit that made Curly’s body clench sharp and sudden around his fingers, and soon they were too preoccupied to laugh. 

Almost everything they did together had that offbeat kind of euphoria to it. There was something freeing about the ease of it all. Even the most potentially awkward moments with Curly never resulted in anything like the fragility that’s settled over him and Shane now, an inaction so weighty it might as well be a physical force. 

This has to be a big faux pas, Ryan supposes, having a mental sex montage about someone else instead of responding to the person in front of you. 

But it's too late to do anything about it now. His brain is still eagerly supplying a blur of Curly-centric memories, dozens ticking past in the blink of an eye, and he shivers a little even though Shane hasn't touched him.

This thing between them, whatever it is, is going to collapse in on itself like a dying star if one of them doesn’t react soon.

Normally, Shane’s presence is a balm that tempers Ryan before he realizes it’s even happening. Ryan might give him shit about Midwestern repression, but at the end of the day Shane can get Ryan to ease up and wind down just by virtue of being his annoyingly easygoing self. There’s no trace of that self in evidence now. Shane is six inches away from him, mouth parted, a tiny pocket of negative space, as if he’s weighing the potential impact of too many words to actually say them.

He has no choice about it now, Ryan knows that much. It’s not a matter of whether or not to throw himself against the rocks, it’s a matter of how far the fall and how hard the impact and how long he’s going to be swept along in the momentum. And, crucially, whether Shane’s going to be there riding it out with him no matter where it leads. But Shane is so still, so silent, and it makes Ryan’s bones ache for him, for all the frenzied thoughts that must be colliding inside his head and for all the hang-ups that make him hell-bent on holding them back. 

Shane is so different from Curly, who covers him with kisses unhesitatingly and whispers pet names like they're his first language and would never let an uncomfortable moment linger without finding a way to fill it. Shane is quiet and intense and holds eye contact with him as if he's holding him physically, as if he’s afraid he'll never get the chance to do it again. Shane hovers his hand between them, steady but still, and doesn’t move a muscle.

So Ryan takes a breath and does it for him.

* * *

He might be imagining the way Shane’s eyes widen just a bit more when Ryan takes him by the wrist, but he doesn’t think so. 

“Here,” he says simply, and guides Shane’s palm to rest flat against his chest.

For a minute, they just stand there, like they’re about to do a weird two-person Pledge of Allegiance. Then Shane clears his throat. His fingers flex ever so slightly against Ryan’s bare skin. 

“You, uh, you really like it, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ryan admits. And then, since there’s no going back now and he’s a little lightheaded just from the tip of Shane’s index finger probing at one side of the barbell, “Do you?”

Shane laughs like it’s being choked out of him. “Jesus, Ryan. You can’t just…” He makes a nondescript gesture with his other hand. “You can’t.”

“Whatever you’re trying to say, I’m pretty sure I can,” Ryan points out. He means for it to sound more steady than it does, but Shane is delicately easing the piercing back and forth, so Ryan’s impressed he’s able to form full sentences at all. “We’ve spent enough time not doing stuff, right?”

A familiar wryness eases its way into Shane’s expression. “That’s very fair.”

“So…” Ryan lets the word linger as he tries to sort out what to say next. “Let’s not _not_ do stuff?“ is what ultimately pops out of his mouth, which is succinct enough if not very sophisticated.

He’s suddenly overcome by the realization that he’s going to have to be the one to jump, that there’s a very good chance Shane never will. Shane is older, he’s had more time to figure himself out, but he gets locked up by his own brain in ways that make Ryan hurt for him.

Then Shane’s head bobs in a short, birdlike nod. His shoulders contract and Ryan’s arms are sliding around them before he has a chance to think about it.

When their mouths meet, Shane’s laughter puffs against Ryan’s skin, soft and surprised. It’s strange to be kissing someone so much taller than him, but the familiarity far outweighs the unfamiliarity. Ryan already knows the lines of Shane’s body and the curve of his smile, albeit never by touch before now. He knows the way Shane has of focusing singlemindedly on a task, and he knows the headiness of being the target of all that concentration. He knows the foresty scent of his cologne, the whiff of his shampoo, which Ryan also knows is his favorite because he’s forgotten his own on overnights before and they’ve had to share. 

And that’s the crux of it all, really. They’ve shared so many things, so many parts of themselves. This is just another mingling of many. 

Shane’s huge hands are clutching at his back.

And all Ryan can think, frantic, is that this isn’t nearly enough. That he wants to chisel Shane out of his guardedness, chip away at his reservations until he has nothing left to hide behind. When they part from what is, all things considered, a rather chaste but very serviceable first kiss, Shane is watching him with the tense alertness of a hunted animal. 

Ryan says nothing at first, half scared that it won’t be enough, that any words will oxidize and tarnish the instant he utters them. There's no blueprint for this, no riff or bit or scripted dialogue that covers falling for your best friend.

“That—” he starts, and then Shane is pulling him back in, their arms interlocking haltingly, and he’s pulling Shane down in turn, until he can’t tell which of them is taking the lead anymore, united in a mutual mission to form as many points of contact as possible. The underused word _enmeshed_ flashes through Ryan’s head.

There’s so much he doesn’t know about Shane, for all the time he spends with him. The soft, plush heat of his mouth. The way his body bends against Ryan’s, long-boned and lanky but still strong enough to make him feel grounded. The way he can navigate Ryan’s living room with his eyes closed, guiding them both onto the couch without breaking contact.

Ryan is being loud already, he can’t help himself. He’s moaning and whimpering nonstop as he squirms his way on top of Shane, uses his upper body strength to bear down on him until Shane gives the smallest, shakiest gasp in return. It feels right to let Shane stretch out on the couch and be taken care of, and Ryan won’t even pause to give him grief about still having his shoes on, that’s how important this is. He has both hands in Shane’s hair, tugging carefully until Shane tilts his head back and lets Ryan kiss a hot, messy path down his neck.

He takes control of their next kiss without realizing it, moaning loud and pleased when Shane’s tongue probes between his lips. Ryan surges against him, gives an involuntary roll of his hips that has Shane spasming underneath him. For a second he’s afraid it’s too much, that Shane is going to shimmy out from under him with a hold-your-horses look on his face and probably on his lips because Shane is exactly the kind of guy who would say that during a passionate makeout session. 

And fuck all if just thinking the phrase _passionate makeout session_ doesn’t make Ryan whine against Shane’s mouth and shove his hips down again.

Shane doesn’t stop him. Shane has those long, graceful hands on his hips, thumbs sliding through Ryan’s belt loops to yank him down harder. The grind of their bodies together is exquisite. 

There’s almost a desperation to the way Shane kisses him, like he’s been dying for it and doesn’t know how to stop. Ryan is hard, from the raw need shuddering off Shane in waves as much as the physical contact. Shane’s hand finds its way back between them, expertly takes Ryan’s unpierced nipple between his fingers and pinches just hard enough to make him wail.

After that, it’s on.

He buries his face in the side of Shane’s neck, tries a careful bite against the arch of it, then does it again when Shane tilts his head back even more. He tucks a hand under the hem of Shane’s shirt, soaking up the heat of his skin, and in return Shane’s hand slides around to the small of his back and _pushes_. He finds a spot on the underside of his chin that makes Shane yelp and bring a knee up to nudge at Ryan’s side, and Ryan might be new to doing this with Shane but some things are universal. He catches Shane around the back of the knee, guides his ridiculously long chino-clad leg up to wrap around his hip, and lets the pressure guide his rhythm as he ruts down against him.

He can feel the length of his cock through both their clothes, hard and inexorable. Holy fuck.

“Holy fuck,” Ryan murmurs. He’s not very good at keeping his thoughts to himself in the heat of the moment.

Their movements slow by mutual silent agreement, settling into something less urgent. Ryan finds himself reveling in the art of stretching this out, prolonging the feel of Shane’s cock pressing against his belly, Shane’s hands hot on his bare waist. And Shane seems hell-bent on covering him with exploratory touches, learning him. He makes a small, curious sound and presses Ryan up so he’s bracing himself overtop Shane on his arms. 

They almost give out when Shane gets his mouth on his chest. Light, scorching little brushes of his lips, over and over. Ryan’s arms are trembling, but he forces himself to hold steady as Shane seeks out his most vulnerable places and lavishes them with attention to the point where Ryan is in serious danger of falling off the damn couch. But Shane seems to sense what he needs, attuned to him as ever, and swings his other leg up, holding him in place, caging him between his sharp knees **.**

Ryan whimpers again and instinctively rewards him for it, palming his way down Shane’s middle to the join of his legs. Watching Shane’s face for the faintest sign of hesitation, he settles his palm over the bulge in his pants, and he presses.

Shane groans, low and throaty, and pushes up against him. He’s so hard, body an insistent arch, rubbing against Ryan’s touch in a slow, dirty movement. Ryan is supporting himself on one shaky arm now and Shane’s hand trails a slow, reverent path down it. “Fuck, you’re...” and Ryan doesn’t get to find out what he is because Shane is sucking a nipple into his mouth and riding his erection into his touch as Ryan cups him through his pants.

Ryan wants to be greedy and giving at the same time, wants to watch Shane be overtaken by pleasure as much as he wants to chase his own. He wriggles down the couch, which has the polarizing effect of shifting his chest away from Shane's mouth and finally getting some relief for his straining arm. 

“Can I—wanna—” he manages to choke out, and Shane is nodding at him without needing to hear anything else. When Ryan gets both hands under his shirt and pushes it up, Shane’s fingers tighten in his hair and he lets out a soft but eloquent groan. 

For a little while, Ryan loses himself there. He lets his mouth map the curve of Shane’s ribs, He rubs his thumb along the trail of hair below his navel, up and back against the grain. He presses hot, sucking kisses to Shane’s skin when that makes his stomach twitch. He works his fingers under the waistband of Shane’s pants, tugs at them until he can lap over the crest of his hip bone. 

Ryan spends an age just nuzzling him, relishing the tremor in Shane’s breathing, knowing his scruff is going to pink up the skin and knowing how much he’s gone mindless with want for this whenever Curly’s done it to him, that he probably still has faded pink patches of beard burn on his inner thighs.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck, _Ryan_.” The way Shane says his name is straight out of his filthiest fantasies.

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees mindlessly. And then, impulsively shameless, he rubs his face against the front of Shane’s pants. 

Shane’s hand clenches in his hair, hard enough that Ryan lets out a small sound of pain. 

“Shit, sorry, sorry, fuck.” Shane is already stroking his head in apology, letting his hands drift in soft sweeps down over Ryan’s shoulders.

Ryan’s too preoccupied to say anything back, so he doubles down, presses his cheek to the hard heat of Shane’s cock through his clothes and lets himself breathe him in. He feels superhuman, eager for anything, as much as Shane will allow him. For that, he can handle much more than a little hair-pulling. Then Shane’s hand settles at the base of his neck and lingers there, kneading his nape in a way that would be almost innocuous if he wasn’t also working his hips against Ryan’s parted mouth.

 _That_ is nothing but lewd. Shane is rocking into him like Ryan is actually sucking him off. 

Ryan’s stomach somersaults. His fingers skim over the button of Shane’s fly.

“Wait,” Shane says suddenly.

This is it, Ryan’s sure of it. The hold-your-horses moment. His gut clenches with apprehension and he tries to walk himself back from it. Even if they stop and never revisit this moment, there’s no erasing what’s already happened. He’ll always have the knowledge of what it feels like to taste Shane on his tongue, to have Shane’s long limbs wrapped around him. He can learn to make that be enough.

But Shane is still clinging to him, his arms are still warm and strong around Ryan’s waist. He keeps starting sentences, halting, stuttering, and then interrupting himself with fierce kisses all down Ryan’s neck. “Ryan, I gotta...listen, I never— _fuck_ , just need to tell you something.”

Ryan’s emotions are basically doing Olympic-level gymnastics by now and if Shane isn't going to get to the point then he's going to have to _ask_. But when he catches Shane’s chin and locks eyes with him, Shane looks like he's about to shatter into a million pieces. 

Lines pinch between Shane’s brows. Ryan is very strongly tempted to press his mouth there until they smooth out. “I’m sorry, I never meant—" he starts. 

Just hearing the vulnerability in his voice is too much, so Ryan shushes him. "Hey, I know you didn't," he says quietly. “It’s okay. I know.”

Shane glances away with a snort, then peers up at him through the sandy sweeps of his lashes. “I’m sorry anyway, okay? Sometimes you bring out the jackass side of me.”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware it ever went away.”

He probably deserves it when Shane leverages the hold he has on Ryan with his insane tentacle-like limbs to fucking flip them, but it still takes him completely by surprise. In the time it takes to blink, he’s flat on his back with Shane straddling him. 

“Well,” Shane says, looking rather smug, “good thing that’s not my only side.”

And he skims his fingers along both Ryan’s nipples.

Ryan squeaks.

“I need to clarify a few things,” Shane continues, like they're having a casual chat over drinks instead of Ryan's pecs. “How much can I touch you without landing your nips on the endangered species list?”

Horrifically, Ryan's dick remains rock-hard. “How— _what_? Jesus Christ, where to begin.”

“I mean.” Shane pinches cautiously. “Is this okay? Not too much?”

Ryan's breath heaves out of him in an unexpected rush. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Shane says. His voice is a little lower than before. He blows a cool stream of air across Ryan’s pierced nipple, soothing the sting of it. “How about that?” 

When Ryan’s hips snap upward, it surprises both of them. “ _Fuck_. Uh-huh.”

“Okay,” Shane says again, sounding more and more like he’s recording an ASMR video. And then he sucks Ryan’s right nipple into his mouth.

Ryan can’t be held responsible for the sounds that come out of him. The velvety heat of Shane’s tongue probing at him is overstimulating enough, but Shane is still rubbing light little circles against his other nipple, toying the barbell between his fingertips. There’s nothing Ryan can do but arch his back and press his chest out for more. Shane bites gently and his cock twitches between them, still trapped in his jeans. He’s aching for Shane to move over and do the same to the other side, to feet the soft suck of his mouth around the piercing. 

But Shane only grazes his lips beside it, hesitant. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs against Ryan’s sternum. “Or be the reason you get gangrene and have to undergo a niputation.”

“Shane,” Ryan says levelly. “I swear to god, I am fucking religious about disinfecting myself and I’ll tell you to stop if I need to. Now please get your goddamn mouth on my tits.” 

Of course Shane doesn’t, because he thrives on contrariness. But he is kissing Ryan’s mouth, which is acceptable, and then rubbing a thumb against his cheekbone, which is also pretty nice. “Promise you’ll tell me to stop if it's too much.”

There’s something solemn about his intonation. Ryan doesn’t even consider cracking a joke, just nods and squirms beneath Shane’s weight. Somehow, having Shane on top of him is comforting rather than oppressive, like a Shane-shaped weighted blanket. 

Shane skims a fingernail beside his pierced nipple. “So...I can kiss this one too?”

Ryan knows he should be good, that he should already be sanitizing and soaking and giving his chest a rest, but he can’t deny Shane anything and he wants it too badly to bother trying. “Yeah, just be careful, okay?”

Shane makes an affirmative sound against Ryan’s collarbone, and then Ryan’s nipple is engulfed in the heat of his mouth.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ryan squeaks. 

Shane freezes. 

“In a good way, in a good way,” Ryan babbles. “C’mon, keep going.”

Shane is gentle with him, rounding the piercing with his tongue as if to gauge Ryan’s level of responsiveness. Then, when Ryan doesn’t try to pull the brakes or buck Shane off of him, he flicks the tip of his tongue directly against it. 

Ryan’s heart is throbbing in his temples. He catches at Shane’s t-shirt, rucking it up his back to get his hands on bare skin. It’s a losing battle, but he tries valiantly to focus on anything but the way his cock is straining inside his pants, smudging his boxers with precome. He’s distantly aware that the sun has dropped lower. The last few rays of it mingle with the hall light and bathe Shane in warmth, caressing golden fingers up his spine, catching on the lightest strands of his hair, illuminating him like a wind-bent tree whose leaves are starting to turn.

“It’s so small,” Shane marvels. His voice warbles and his neck gives an audible click when he eases his mouth off Ryan’s nipple. Ryan has possibly never been more attracted to him. “It’s crazy how many nerve endings you’ve got in such a small area. You think you’ll ever get the other one done?”

“Gonna wait till this one totally heals and then maybe.”

Shane’s pupils are huge, his hands reverent. “This might be too forward of me, but you’d look so fucking hot like that. I mean, you aren’t too shabby as it is, but—”

“We’ve got to work on your dirty talk,” Ryan mutters. 

Shane laughs ruefully, undeterred. “You could get a little chain between them,” he breathes against Ryan’s nipple, rubbing his fingers over the slick little peak of it until Ryan whimpers. “If you do get the other one done. We could clip a chain between them, holy shit, that would look...”

“Like that big dude from The 300?” 

It’s the vaguest description ever, but Shane picks up on it right away. Affection blooms warm and wild in Ryan’s chest. “Sure. But like...sexy, and not gross and xenophobic-y.” He quirks a smile at him, then moves from flippant to filthy on a dime. “And I could tug at it a little when you’re right about to come. You think you can come just from that?” 

Ryan is ready to take back his jibe about Shane’s dirty talk, but Shane kisses him again before he has the chance, so slow and deep and lush that it leaves his head whirling.

Shane licks along the arch of his neck, murmuring low in his ear, wondering out loud if Ryan can come just from having his nipples kissed and licked and played with. He's so sensitive there already, Shane knows that just by virtue of spending so much time with him, and this is definitely something Ryan and Curly have experimented with, but he has to laugh when Shane goes, “Do you ever have trouble making it through the day just from your shirts rubbing against them?”

“It’s not that intense, dude, sorry,” Ryan says, hoping his words also convey a heavy undercurrent of _we can totally try that sometime, we can try anything you want, just keep touching me._

It works. Shane keeps kissing him, letting his stubble rasp against Ryan’s skin. He works a hand down to press against his crotch, but Shane’s touches never venture below the waist no matter how much Ryan squirms. Shane, apparently, is more than content to keep kneading the swells of Ryan’s pecs with both hands. His nipples are so tight that they ache each time Shane so much as brushes a thumb against them. A glance downward has Ryan’s face flaring at how reddened they are. He looks, for lack of a better word, _indecent._

Then Shane tongues the little metal bar and lets out a half-smothered moan that resonates right through him. 

Ryan doesn't even have his jeans unzipped when he spasms and shoves Shane away because he can feel the orgasm building in his groin. 

Shane is about to make him eat his words yet again and he couldn’t care less.

“I’m gonna come,” he chokes out.

And that's when his phone alarm goes off. 

Ryan shrieks like he’s been plopped back into the Sallie House.

Shane actually sits up and tilts his head, like some enormous mood-killing meerkat. “Huh. You gonna get that?”

The contorting Ryan does to wrestle his phone out of his pocket is equally mood-killing. “I’ve got an hour before I’m supposed to meet up with the guys.”

“Ah.” Shane nods slowly, like he’s recentering himself. “That’s right. You and the dirty boys have plans.”

Ryan gives him a slow, pointed once-over. “Like you've got a leg to stand on here. You’re gonna have to retire that nickname pretty soon.”

Shane’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Am I, though?”

“I don’t have to go, we can keep…” Ryan looks at him with pleading eyes.

But Shane is already swinging himself around to perch beside Ryan instead of on top of him. Other than the blush staining his face and the bulge in his chinos, he seems unruffled. “Uh-uh. You said your bro got dumped, right? And you’ve got an hour that includes travel time?”

“Yeah.” Ryan tries to glare at him and fails spectacularly. 

“You can’t ditch the dirty boys at a time like this. Go be a supportive friend and laser tag it up. Also I brought food, so we might as well eat it.” Shane dips his lashes for a second, then leans in to brush a quick kiss to Ryan’s cheek. “Besides, I’m not going anywhere.”

There’s a double benefit to this, Ryan supposes. One, he has to admit he’s hungry and Shane’s had his Thai order memorized for years now. Two, if they stuff themselves with pad see ew then they can slow down a bit but don’t have to actually talk about this. Not now, not yet. They can keep everything between them gossamer and soap-bubble shimmery and just let it linger there, in the few spaces they aren’t touching.

“Sometimes I really can’t stand how logical you are. Have I ever mentioned that?”

Shane grins at him and gets to his feet. “Maybe a couple times.”

“You’re the worst,” Ryan informs him. “Worst, comma, the. That’s you.”

“There’s no rush, man,” Shane points out, which is as rational as it is infuriating. He’s already setting out plates, navigating Ryan’s kitchen like it’s his own. “Look at all the time we’ve spent not rushing already,” 

Rather than acknowledge the truth of this, Ryan shoves a lukewarm spring roll into his mouth. This is when Shane chooses to look him dead in the eye and ask, “Will you stay the night with me afterward?”

Ryan hopes the way he sputters comes across as a yes because it’s all he’s capable of doing.

“I don’t care how long you’re out there throwing down like a bunch of overgrown Ninja Turtles. I don’t care if you wake me up when you come over once you’re done. Just.” Shane smiles, lopsided and so soft it twists Ryan’s heart. “Come over once you’re done, okay?”

He’s choking down a spring roll, sitting topless at his kitchen table with a half-chub and a reluctant night of laser tag ahead of him. And yet, Shane’s bed is possibly the only other place on earth he’d rather be. “Okay.” 

“You’re good with that?”

“Yeah.” Ryan slides his hand into Shane’s, fitting them together as if they’ve been doing it all their lives. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

Curly is deeply appalled.

Throughout his evening of craft beers, lasers, and obnoxious amounts of dry ice, Ryan fills him in and fails horrifically at defending himself against the resulting onslaught of texts.

_I’m sorry you WHAAATT_

_Tell me you just typod everything you just said bcus no way am i about to believe you left your boo hanging to go act like a 10 yr old_

_RYAN. MI AMOR. MI MAJE. TELL ME._

Even via text, Ryan can hear the incredulity lacing his tone. _I’m going to his place after!!!_ he responds, hoping against hope that increasing the number of exclamation points will somehow calm Curly down. 

It does not.

Curly sends him a “she needs to sort out her priorities” gif and keeps right on trucking. 

_like why tf aren't you letting him get his hands all over those tight little titties_

_Do not make me come down to lasertown and make a scene_

_Maya is making me horchata and I’m already in my pjs but i will do it_

_She thinks I’m about to have a heart attack btw and she might be right_

_You will be the death of me bergara, how does that make you feel????_

Ultimately, Ryan has to hide in the bathroom between rounds to call him. 

“ _You_ ,” Curly accuses when he picks up. “Explain yourself.” 

It ends up taking a little while before Ryan has a chance to oblige because Curly has plenty more to say about his life choices. “You’d better have a real good reason for leaving your man high and dry like that because, honey, I will go full double Scorpio on you.” 

Ryan frowns. “I thought you were a Virgo.”

“I _am_ a Virgo, but my moon and my rising are both Scorpio.” 

Ryan has never grasped how that works, not that he’s put much effort into trying. “How does that make you more Scorpio-ish than Virgo-ish? Is it like Mercury being in retrograde?”

He gets the distinct impression Curly is eyeballing him over the rims of his glasses. “This is not the time for your Sagittarius malarkey, Ryan.” 

“My bad,” Ryan says, wincing when someone flushes. Maybe he should have stepped outside to do this.

“This is about you and the love of your life making beautiful music together,” Curly insists. “Or it's supposed to be, but you're all up on the self-sabotage train.”

“I am not! We’ll get to that part later tonight, okay? We will make symphonies and…” Ryan racks his brain for another classy musical term, “and, uh, sonnets and super sick beats, I promise. Besides, I bet Shane needs some processing time too. We kind of started off with a bang.”

That seems to placate Curly. Somewhat. He only keeps Ryan on the phone for a few more minutes, during which Ryan has to apologize for undue text-responding wait time, say a quick hello to Maya, and promise he’ll shower before going to see Shane and not show up smelling like a locker room. “And I mean sho- _wer_ ,” Curly emphasizes, as if Ryan hasn’t had ample time to master the art of cleansing oneself if there’s a chance one is going to partake in butt stuff.

When he finally rejoins his friends, not a single one of them believes his white lie about being gone so long because there was a line. Fortunately, their next foray into the maze is about to start and everyone is too hyped up on testosterone to heckle him about it for very long. 

He does place dead last because he’s so distracted. That, Ryan can admit, is definitely worth the shit they give him for it. There’s no excuse for dropping his gun on his foot twice and shooting at a watchtower. His brain is currently DJing three tracks and that’s it: the frenetic barrage of Curly’s texts, the quiet rawness of Shane saying _stay the night with me_ , and the dragon from Mulan screeching _how could you miss? it was three feet in front of you!_

Maybe he’s got too much on his mind to have room for depth perception. 

Later, he breaks away from the group instead of joining everyone for a drink afterward. Curly was right, he’s just one good spritz of Axe body spray away from smelling like high school. His hair is stiff with sweat and every step is glazed with the stickiness of spilled soda under his shoes. He claps Roland on the shoulder and deflects like a pro. “Hey, I’m wiped and you guys fucking reek, think I’m gonna call it a night.”

He gets some aggressive armpit-to-nose contact during his round of goodbye bro-hugs, which he’s not entirely sure he deserves. 

“Peace out, dude,” Danny calls to him from the other end of the table. “See you at home, okay?”

“Um, no,” Ryan hedges. He can feel heat creeping across his face as several pairs of interested eyes hone in on him. “See you tomorrow, though.”

 _Possibly_ he deserves the cacophony of catcalls that follows him out the door. He can live with that.

It takes a little while to reorient himself once he’s back home. He showers, changes, loads up a backpack of essentials, and calls a Lyft. None of it should take as long as it does. It’s the actual middle of the night by the time he’s en route to Shane’s place. This is also when it occurs to Ryan he’s been so preoccupied fielding texts from Curly that he hasn’t checked in with Shane at all. Although, to be fair, Shane hasn’t texted him either. That’s no big deal, they have lulls in their text conversations all the time. 

Unless it _is_ a big deal on account of the whole almost-jizzing-his-pants thing. Or the whole suddenly-we’re-doing-emotional-openness thing. He can see why both of those would make Shane balk a bit. It’s funny, he spent the last couple hours chomping at the bit to see Shane again. And now that he’s about to, he’s digging up all the ways it could go wrong.

If his Lyft driver finds it odd that Ryan keeps grimacing to himself, she doesn’t let on.

 _Hey sorry so late but omw_ , he texts, on the off chance Shane is still up.

Then, when Shane doesn’t reply within thirty seconds, he fires one off to Curly. _So I’m in a lyft and I think he’s asleep but he said to come over anyway????_

Curly, at least, responds immediately. _Yasssssss! You can snuggle all night and have slow sweet morning sex. U got this boo <3 _

He makes it sound so easy. 

_I feel like you have way more faith in me than I deserve_ , he texts back.

 _Listen if shane’s asleep then he’s not overthinking shit to death like you are,_ Curly points out, which is actually kind of comforting. If ever there was a time for Shane’s laidback nature to calm Ryan down, this is it.

Curly isn’t done with his pep talk. _So get in there and get your cuddle on and call me if you think you need to k??_ And he sends Ryan a series of thumbs-up emojis.

Shane has also had more time to settle down and probably jerk off, Ryan thinks enviously. He doesn’t share this with Curly, just dashes off some typo-ridden gratitude with unsteady hands. When he looks up from his phone, he’s half convinced his driver slipped through a wormhole. There’s no way in hell they can be outside Shane’s building already.

And yet, here he is, unlocking the door with the spare key Shane gave him a couple years ago and never took back. He’s used it occasionally since then, to pop by and feed Obi when Shane’s been out of town, or to let himself in when Shane’s too lazy to come to the door. But this is different. This is tiptoeing into Shane’s apartment in the dead of the night with the express purpose of getting down and dirty. 

He calls Shane’s name a few times—not too loudly, in case Shane is still asleep, but loud enough to announce his presence just in case Shane’s woken up and thinks he’s a burglar. He passes Obi, curled up on the couch, and considers making a pillow nest for himself right there in the living room. Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe whatever they need to say and do to each other is better off waiting until morning.

But if Curly was here, he would be tsking and propelling Ryan forward, so that’s where he goes. 

Tentatively, he eases Shane’s bedroom door open and steps inside. 

There’s a little light filtering in from the hallway—did Shane leave that on for him?—so it doesn’t take long for his eyes to adjust. 

As he watches, Shane’s form coalesces out of the darkness. He’s lying with his back to Ryan, bony shoulders tucked up by his ears like he’s a giant bird trying to nestle under his own wing. It doesn’t look especially comfortable. Ryan doesn’t do anything but stare at him for a minute, then decides that the only thing creepier than sneaking into Shane’s place in the middle of the night is standing in the doorway watching him sleep.

“Uhh,” he announces. 

And Shane turns over, meets him with sleep-bleary eyes. 

Hair messy, blankets rumpled, shadows gathering in the hollows of his collarbone when he pushes himself up onto an elbow. Not saying anything, just eyeing Ryan with so much vulnerability that it bolsters his courage.

He takes a step forward, then another.

“Hey, big guy,” Ryan says softly. “I made it.”

There’s a soft little smile tugging at the corner of Shane’s mouth. “Huh. You did.”

When Shane holds back the covers for him, Ryan slides in beside him without hesitation. 

“I thought you might have backed out,” Shane mumbles.

“Fuck,” is the only thing Ryan can say at first. “Fuck, no, sorry. I didn't mean to make you think that, fuck, I'm such an asshole. Curly made me promise not to come over without showering and then I kept texting him because I was freaking out and I guess you were asleep by the time it occurred to me I should probably text you too, and I didn’t—”

Shane makes him break off mid-sentence by nudging a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t freak out on my account. I mean, you’re here now and you smell nice. That’s pretty groovy.” 

He puts a bit of an Austin Powers spin on the word. Ryan hates it almost as much as he finds it endearing. 

There’s no other way to respond to that than by letting himself be wrapped up in Shane's long, languid arms and held, sleep-soft. Shane nuzzles him, presses kisses into his hair, and Ryan swears he can feel himself melting. There’s going to be a gross Ryan-shaped puddle all over Shane’s sheets, and not in a fun sexy way, but at least he’ll go out doing what he loves. 

The full significance of that thought hits him just as Shane starts pawing his way up under Ryan’s shirt.

“Hey, so I’m kind of in love with you?”

Shane kisses him gently on the lips, and then so deeply Ryan loses track of anything but the feel of Shane’s tongue in his mouth and his hands in his hair. “Do you have any idea how hard I’m trying to hold back a Han Solo moment right now?”

“Fucker,” Ryan grumbles. “I’ve been waiting forever to get that off my chest and this is how you’re gonna play it?” 

“It’s such a good chest,” Shane sighs. “Like, an unfairly good chest.”

He drifts a hand further up Ryan’s shirt and Ryan flinches away from his touch, quick and involuntary. 

Shane grimaces. “Shit. I don’t know how to do this without turning it into a slapstick comedy thing.” The lean lines of his body tense up like bowstrings, Ryan can feel it happen. “I love you too, okay? I’m just...bad at this. Really bad.”

“It’s not that. I had to wear one of those fucking GI Joe vest things for laser tag, so I’m a little sore.” Ryan shifts against him and flashes his biggest, dopiest grin. “But cool. Glad to hear it.”

The way Shane gapes at him might not be the most gratifying experience of Ryan’s life, but it’s up there. “You’re such a little shit.” 

Ryan hums contentedly and pecks him on the cheek. No point arguing that one.

“Gotta say,” Shane adds, “sharing a bed with you on the reg has not been easy.”

“Yeah, well, likewise.” He settles into his arms a little more. For a beanpole, Shane is surprisingly comfortable. “We could've been doing this all along, huh?”

“I don’t know about that. The cameras would have to be off and you would have to not be freaking out about ghouls. But maybe we could've gotten away with some subtle cuddling.”

“That’s what I’m calling our new line of Watcher body pillows: Subtle Cuddlers.”

Shane snorts. “You’ve been spending too much time with Steven.”

It’s so easy to do this with Shane, well-worn and comfortable. They might as well be on an Unsolved shoot, bantering in bed, just with way more physicality than usual. Shane has maneuvered him into being the little spoon, carefully keeping his hands away from Ryan’s chest all the while, and it’s so simple to let himself relax into it. For a long time, there’s been a part of Ryan that was running in circles, panicking about the possibility of everything they’ve built together going up in smoke. That part of him is getting more insubstantial by the second. 

“Like,” Shane goes on, “if this were a ghoul house, I wouldn’t have to stop myself from doing this.” He tightens his arm around Ryan’s waist and mouths a lazy kiss to the nape of his neck. “And if you got creeped out, you could just go ‘oh Shane, I need to seek the shelter of your manly embrace’ and I might actually get a decent night’s sleep.”

It’s true, Ryan realizes. He has the luxury of being in the same bed as Shane and not having to stop himself if he wants to put an arm around him or kiss him or just let their bodies touch. It’s going to take some time for this new reality to sink in. But first things first.

“This is the most pure and innocent roleplay ever,” he says. “And I would never use the term manly embrace unironically, by the way.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Shane replies through a yawn.

“Also,” Ryan muses, “Is it still roleplay if we're just ourselves?”

“I think it’s either Inception as fuck or it cancels out.”

“Is it, though? If I tenderly rail you while pretending to be myself?”

“If you tenderly rail me, we’re gonna be here a while. It’s been a few years since anyone’s breached the premises. You never know what you might be in for.”

Ryan wishes he were more aghast than he is. Shane has conditioned him too well. “Are you comparing your _ass_ to a haunted house?”

They both lose the thread of the debate after a little while. It’s the tail end of a very long day, after all, and falling asleep together is nothing new to them. Ryan drifts off that way, with the two of them curled together and comfortable and matching each other breath for breath

* * *

By morning, they’ve separated onto their own sides of the bed. 

Ryan runs too hot to sleep tangled up in someone else, and this way it’s easier to get his bearings without rousing Shane too.

He opens his eyes to two intense realizations. First, it's the novelty of waking up next to Shane and not having to worry about having talked in his sleep or tried to snuggle him in the night. He could get used to this so easily.

Second, he's incredibly, overwhelmingly hard.

Shane is on his back with the comforter bunched down around his waist, baring his torso in a way that makes Ryan seriously weigh his options. If this was any other day, he would take himself into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and jerk off under the safety of background noise and mutual discretion. This, however, is a morning-after-very-heavy-making-out kind of day, and there’s no precedent to follow.

Since Ryan isn’t fully awake yet and can't quite control his impulses, he decides to set one. He closes the space between them just enough to nose at Shane’s warm, rough cheek, and then gives him the barest brush of a kiss just at the edge of his mouth. 

It’s not exactly a Sleeping Beauty moment. Shane yawns right away, releasing a gust of morning breath right into Ryan’s face. 

Ryan, again with the poor impulse control, lets out a garbled sound that defies definition.

So much for not waking Shane. He stretches, loose-limbed and sleep-muzzy, opening his eyes just long enough to mumble "Mornin’" before pushing his face into a pillow.

Ryan, at a complete loss for how to talk to him instead of grind on him, asks if he slept well

“Yeah, really well,” Shane says. His voice is at least an octave lower, sleep-roughened into a sexier version of itself. 

“No, uh, second thoughts?” Ryan ventures, cringing when his own voice comes out sounding like he just gulped down helium. 

Shane doesn’t seem at all fazed by Ryan gaping at him like a loon. On the contrary, he pushes himself onto his side, eyes slitting open just enough for Ryan to catch the glint of them. Ryan wants to touch him again, so badly he can feel the need all but crackling under his skin. “Nah. Want to try that kiss thing one more time?”

There are a few boilerplate responses that spring to mind (“just _one_ more time?” and “not until you brush your teeth” chief among them), but what rushes out of Ryan’s throat is, “ _God,_ yeah.”

This time, Ryan kisses him just as delicately. Almost nothing more than just a little nudge of their lips, but enough that Shane’s part under his. Offering up his mouth for the taking, so Ryan does.

Shane makes a pleased, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. His fingers twist into the cloth of Ryan’s shirt, urging him as close as possible. So he obliges, surging until they’re pressed together, relishing the feel of Shane's bare skin under his hands. Ryan couldn’t stop kissing him if he wanted to.

The two of them are completely wrapped up in each other, cocooned in such a perfect golden moment that it’s just a matter of time before something takes a hammer to it. Ryan curses his paranoid brain for going there. Reflexively, he wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, only Shane’s tongue is already there.

So he goes with it, his tongue slipping against Shane’s and drawing another low, hungry sound out of him. And then Shane’s tongue is pressing into his mouth, soft and insistent, making it deliberate instead of accidental. Ryan lets him in, encourages it with small, broken sounds of desperation. He lets Shane maul his mouth open, rakes his nails up the length of his spine when Shane starts sucking on his tongue, and tries not to get overwhelmed by the fact that Shane's dick is all up close and personal with his thigh. 

He is _not_ going to come in his underwear just from some, admittedly pretty great, kissing and petting. They’ve got all day ahead of them and Shane might never let him live it down.

Meanwhile, Shane pets up, up, up under his threadbare t-shirt to the point where Ryan is on the verge of just wriggling his way out of it altogether. The rub of fabric against his nipples is already too much. He wants to strip bare and press his chest out, presenting himself for Shane’s mouth to soothe and tease and explore. 

Then Shane’s fingertips skim against one of his nipples and Ryan almost chokes. His already-overstimulated body jerks and he can feel the whole hard length of Shane’s dick rub against his thigh and suddenly he's whimpering and latching his mouth onto Shane’s neck and sucking for all he's worth. One of Shane’s hands cups between his legs, making him jolt.

“Please,” Ryan groans into his ear. Fuck it, he’s incapable of muffling himself in bed. And Shane’s going to be smug about getting Ryan off like a popgun no matter what, whenever it happens. He might as well lean into it. “I need more, can we—” he buries his face in the long arch of Shane’s neck again. “Can you please, please just touch me?” 

But teasing him doesn’t seem to be anywhere on Shane’s agenda. “Okay, shhhh, I got you,” he croons into Ryan’s hair, nudging his boxers off his hips. If anything, he sounds just as wound up as Ryan feels. “Is that good?”

“Could be a little better,” Ryan admits, shoving his shirt up under his arms. 

He’s completely unprepared for the way Shane rakes his eyes over him. “Shit, Ryan. _Look_ at you,” he murmurs, sounding for all the world like he’s addressing a piece of art.

Ryan squirms, his body simultaneously flushing and flexing under Shane’s gaze. He lets him look his fill, noting the leap of Shane’s eyebrows when his cock twitches under the scrutiny. 

“We having a staring contest?”

“Fuck you and the muscles you rode in on,” Shane says lightly. “Let’s see what you can do with ’em.”

He hauls Shane back in before he finishes talking. 

It’s graceless, the way Ryan crushes them together like a couple of Barbie dolls, but it gets the job done. He kicks his boxers off one leg, bringing it up over Shane’s hip as he undulates against him. Shane has a hand on his ass, squeezing in a way that makes Ryan’s eyes roll back, makes his lower body writhe in an obscene, sinuous movement. The head of his dick is rubbing against Shane’s stomach, leaving a kiss of wetness there, making both of them slick and messy with it.

He's got his shirt rucked halfway up his chest, his boxers caught around one ankle, which somehow makes him feel both incredibly exposed and not exposed enough. And then Shane really is touching him, thumbing the head of his cock, stroking the length of it like he's memorizing the way Ryan feels in his hand, like Ryan isn't shaking and gasping and grabbing at his hair. Curly always thought it was fascinating how little it took to get him all worked up, and it seems like Shane is right there with him. "Jesus," he murmurs, and Ryan just whimpers and leaks even more.

Shane keeps touching him, making these soft, almost-awed, almost-dismayed sounds and just petting his lips against Ryan’s mouth, not quite kissing him, just sighing and teasing him with the almost-touch of it. Ryan can't even imagine how that would feel against his dick, and then he realizes maybe Shane is thinking the exact same thing and oh _god_. One of Shane’s big hands grabs his ass again, wrenches him closer.

Ryan doesn’t stand a chance. He comes against Shane’s stomach in a sudden wet burst of heat.

“Oh,” he hears Shane say, very soft and very close. “ _Ryan_.”

The sound Ryan utters can only be described as a purr. Eyes closed, he tilts his face up for kisses and Shane gives them freely. He can't help pushing his thigh against Shane’s hard dick, catching his fingers in the waistband of his pajama pants. His body is primed, all loose and shameless in the afterglow. The heated heft of Shane’s cock fills his hand like it belongs there.

Shane groans and snags at Ryan’s lower lip with his teeth. One of his thumbs brushes against the piercing, which makes Ryan whine into the heat of his mouth.

Curly used to suckle them ruthlessly before he got pierced. Ryan still misses that, or at least getting to have equal treatment applied to them both. He would suck them into hard little peaks, tight red points ripe for the biting. Then, when Ryan was on his back trying to curl in on himself from the sensory overload, Curly would take his time with him, kissing and soothing with gentle sweeps of his tongue. 

He’s about to say something to urge Shane down that path, that surely he can handle having his nipples kissed a little while he jerks him off. But Shane takes him by the wrist, eases his hand out of his pants, and sets it in the splatter of come cooling on Ryan’s stomach.

That has to be deliberate.

Ryan is all set to call him out for it, but decides there are other priorities at the top of the list just now. “I want you to come too,” he insists, but Shane waves him off as if Ryan just offered him an hors d'oeuvre instead of an orgasm.

“I’ve had a lot of practice _not_ coming around you, I can handle one more. Also, I can’t get off when my stomach’s growling, it’s too distracting."

Ryan frowns at him, but he does withdraw his touch. “Is this gonna be a thing with you? The whole cockblocking with food thing?”

“I just did the opposite of cockblock you!” Shane protests. “I cock...liberated you! I dare you to find a more liberated cock without visiting a free-range farm. Besides, look me in the eye and tell me you’re not starving.”

“Fine,” Ryan sighs, letting his mouth map the contours of Shane’s collarbone. “I might be kind of hungry.” That doesn’t mean he’s in any hurry to move. He could spend all morning like this, kissing and intertwined, sunlight poking through the blinds and skin warm against skin.

Shane gives him a shove. “Good. Go clean up, then I want to shower.”

Ryan stretches his arms over his head, deliberately louche about letting his body arch into it. “Can we have another debate about shower sex? Maybe with a practical demonstration this time?” 

“Listen, I don't want the first time I get you naked to be ruined when I concuss myself on the shower head or something.”

“Give me a little time and I'll shower head _you_ ,” Ryan says absurdly, letting Shane take that however he wants. 

Shane pauses in the midst of sliding his glasses on. This results in him leveling Ryan with a particularly severe stare over the tops of them. “I would smack you on the ass right now, but that would be disrespectful without a thorough understanding of your preferences and limits.”

Even though he just came, Ryan feels a valiant tendril of arousal trickle towards his groin.

“Shane,” Ryan informs him. “If you _don’t_ give me a smack on the ass, I’m going to take forever in the bathroom. Then you’ll have to wait to shower, which means you’ll have to wait even longer to eat.” He hops off the bed, almost stumbling over the boxers still clinging to one ankle, but recovering with as much dignity as possible for a guy wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jizz. “Make it good and maybe I’ll whip up some scrambled eggs.”

Shane, watching him with undisguised amusement, shrugs one shoulder. “Twist my arm, why don’t you.”

Which is how Ryan comes to be hovering over the stove, clad in a shirt and shorts he stole out of Shane’s dresser, overseeing the progress of some bacon and eggs.

His ass is still stinging. This is one of the greatest mornings of his life.

* * *

They eat on the couch, Shane’s hair leaving a damp patch on Ryan’s shoulder because he manages to twist himself into a position that lets him rest his head there. The eggs are decent and the bacon is only slightly burnt, which Ryan blames on Shane’s finicky stovetop. They drink orange juice instead of coffee, a conscious choice on Ryan’s part. He’s a little in love with the idea of stretching the lazy, sated feel of the morning out for as long as he can. If he can parlay it into them spending most of the day in Shane’s bed, just for the sake of being able to touch in as many places as possible, that would be ideal. 

He gives Shane a nudge once they’ve set their plates on the coffee table. “So what’s on the Madej agenda this fine morning?” 

“Not much. Uh, I was watching Blade Runner the other day, we could finish that.” 

“We could,” Ryan says amiably. “Or we could sex it up. Or both at once, but that might not pan out too well.”

Shane blinks. “I’m just trying to reconcile the Ryan I know with this wanton sex fiend, don’t mind me.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, with an airy flick of his hand. “I don’t.”

They fall through the bedroom door approximately ten seconds later.

And, just like with Curly, it’s a glorious freefall, the kind Ryan was terrified he’d never get to have, not like this, not with Shane. 

But here he is, wrenching at Shane’s hair, holding him in place while he tries his damnedest to make love to Shane’s mouth with his own. Tossing clothes by the wayside, tumbling back into bed as if they’re trying to crawl under each others’ skin. And this time, Shane is more than happy to let him try.

Ryan laps a hot, messy trail up the center of his chest. “Gonna let me touch this time? Gonna let me get my hands all over that big dick?” The question _gonna fuck me with it?_ lingers on the back of his tongue, unsaid. For now.

Ryan doesn't always know how to ask for what he wants, but being too turned on to be self-conscious helps a _lot_. When he draws his fist up the length of Shane’s cock and sighs, “Fuck, I really want you to put your fingers in me," Shane moans loud enough to wake the dead.

Ryan is honestly a little impressed with himself. He kind of thought he'd have to work himself up to floating this step to Shane. But on the other hand, Ryan is an inquisitive guy and he’s waited long enough. Maybe he’s taken so many chances lately that adding one more just isn’t that big of a deal anymore. 

This also means Shane can't help picturing them doing it. He might as well be broadcasting a thought bubble, the way he’s drinking Ryan in with his eyes.

Babbling seems to be working out for him, so Ryan keeps going, running his mouth as he runs his fingers up the underside of Shane’s cock. “So fucking big, been thinking about this for so long...how much I wanna get this inside me, get _you_ inside me. Can we do that?”

Shane falters.

Alarm bells resonating in his head, Ryan walks it back. “I mean! We don’t have to if you’re not...or if it’s too much. Or I can fuck you if you like. All about that equal opportunity here, man.” 

“I—yes,” Shane stutters. “I would like you to...I would like that very much sometime. But I’m, ah, pretty sure I like it both ways, so…” He makes a courtly little after-you gesture towards Ryan’s ass. 

It’s insane how much Ryan wants to kiss him. 

Almost as insane as Shane’s word choice, come to think of it. Ryan muses on that for a moment. Unless he’s missing something, _pretty sure_ implies _not entirely sure_ and since Shane was talking about having his—ugh—premises breached the other night...

“Oh my god,” Ryan breathes. “ _Butt virginity_.”

For a minute, the only sound is Obi meowing outside the closed door.

Shane breaks first. “Do I even want to know?”

“Virginity goes both ways,” Ryan blurts out, already knowing the response he’s going to get. 

And of course: “Virginity is a social construct,” Shane says instantly.

“That’s what I meant, it’s totally a social construct! But also, have you or have you not put your dick in a butt before?” He doesn’t have the easy confidence of Curly when he asked Ryan about this during their first night together. Or his way with words. But whatever, it gets the job done. 

Shane is suddenly hesitant, a fluorescent blush lighting up his face. “I’ve only ever used my fingers and the odd...you know, _implement_. So you’ve gotta tell me if I mess up or if it’s too much.”

Ryan darts his eyes between Shane’s cock and his face. He’s dying to demand how the hell Shane hasn’t done this before. This is something he’s going to have to learn the details on some other time. Now is not the time. Clearly.

“Are you for real? You never slept with a guy who saw what you’re packing and was like ‘challenge accepted’?”

He just can’t help himself, poor timing be damned.

Slowly, Shane removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oddly enough, I never slept with any rage comic characters.”

“Okay, so maybe this isn’t the time to learn your whole sexual history,” Ryan concedes. 

Shane tenses a bit, jaw tightening, but melts into it when Ryan resumes stroking him and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Curly and I would talk you up, you know.” This might also be a bad idea, bringing up Curly, but he’s feeling reckless and it's not like Shane's unaware they've been hooking up. “He’d get his fingers in me and then talk about how much longer yours are.” 

Shane’s mouth falls open. 

“How much deeper they’d go,” Ryan murmurs, biting gently at Shane’s lower lip. He twists his fist on the upstroke, coaxing out a drop of precome. “How well you’d fill me up.”

There had been more parts of Shane than just his fingers that had made their way into Curly’s dirty talk. He remembers Curly interlacing their hands as he fucked him from behind, necklaces and beard brushing Ryan's back. _You think you can come just from me being inside you? Gonna train you to take it so good you’ll come the second he’s got his cock in your gorgeous little ass._ Ryan, mouth swollen from hours of hard and heated kisses, had clenched so tight around him that they'd both moaned. 

Shane, by contrast, looks almost shy even though all he’s doing is wrangling a bottle of lube out of his nightstand. He pours some into his hand, brows hitching a bit higher when Ryan cheerfully sprawls out on his back, thighs spread. 

“C’mon, pal. Stick it to me.”

“You know, I’ve dreamed about this moment,” Shane says conversationally. “Only my dream version of you never says shit quite like this.”

And he eases a slippery finger against Ryan’s hole.

To his credit, Ryan doesn’t choke or black out, even though Shane spends an eternity just _petting_ him there. He runs his finger across his hole, applying enough pressure to tease at the idea of entering without actually doing it. It makes Ryan press his hips higher, whining a little, until Shane takes pity on him and slides that first finger all the way in. 

Curly was absolutely right. 

A plethora of whimpers fills Ryan’s throat. Shane coaxes them out of him, pushing his finger in and withdrawing it over and over. Ryan is leaking against his stomach, losing himself in the coin-bright glint of Shane’s eyes, in the reality of having Shane _inside_ him.

Shane gives him a second finger and Ryan couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to. He feels obscene, so slick with lube that it's dripping down his thighs, wet and spread open. Shane's fingers work him over like his body is an instrument, lighting him up from inside. Ryan tilts his hips, cock jerking against his belly when that lets Shane slide a little deeper.

“This okay?” Shane asks. He sounds a little strained, nowhere near the breaking point Ryan is quickly approaching. “You still with me?”

 _Always_. Ryan drags in a breath and it's as if there isn't enough air in the world. “Bend them a little more, yeah, like that.” He screws his eyes shut, keening a little. “Right there, right there, _right there_.”

It could be another thirty seconds or another hour that passes like this, with Shane crooking his fingers inside him so perfectly, working him right up to the edge.

"More is okay," Ryan manages to force out, all slick and flushed and smearing precome on his hand when he touches himself. “You can give me three, I want it.”

Shane obliges, letting out a sharp breath through his teeth as Ryan writhes down onto his hand.

“Fuck, you’re just _taking_ it, aren’t you? Is this all from Curly being a good teacher or did you figure it out yourself?” 

“Good teacher,” Ryan grits out. “I didn’t know I even liked getting fingered until he got his hands on me.” 

Shane looks at him, speculative. His free hand, Ryan notes, is absently stripping his cock. “Yeah? Tell me more.”

This, Ryan can do. He hooks a hand around the back of Shane’s neck, draws him down until their lips are almost touching. “Yesterday, before you came over, he was finger-fucking me right there in the living room. It was maybe an hour before you got there, right on the couch.”

For the first time, Shane’s fingers pause in their rhythm. Ryan squirms and makes an unhappy noise, but Shane just gives him a heavy-lidded look. “The same couch we made out on later?”

Ryan groans. “A different section of it, but yeah. I’m not a barbarian, I Febrezed it before you got there.”

“Just out in the open, huh?” Shane’s mouth ghosts across his jaw, the backs of his knuckles grazing Ryan’s hip each time he strokes himself. “Where your roommates could've walked in on their bro getting finger-banged at any moment.” Ryan yelps as he thrusts his fingers in once more, then withdraws them completely.

“I mean, Roland was out and Danny was sleeping, but l guess it could’ve happened. I wasn’t really thinking about it at the time. Curly can be very persuasive.” He parts his legs wider, shameless, but Shane seems content just rubbing a thumb over Ryan’s twitching, empty hole.

“What else did he teach you?”

“Just some afterschool special stuff like being honest and following my heart.” Shane is squirming against him, the length of his cock hot and hard, and that’s what makes Ryan go for it. He rolls the dice, lets his voice roll soft and low against Shane's ear. “And he taught me how to fuck.”

Shane lets out a small, strangled sound.

Nothing feels more natural to Ryan than guiding Shane down onto his back after getting fingered open by his long, lovely hands. He grabs a condom from the drawer Shane left ajar earlier. “I need you to fuck me now. You down for that?”

“I’m down for trying.” Shane is clearly doing his best to sound calm, but his voice trembles just enough for Ryan to notice it. 

“Hey.” Ryan bends in, kissing him, nuzzling their mouths together. “ _Hey_. Relax. I’ll take care of you.” 

For an eternity of breathless silence, Shane doesn’t respond.

Ryan sets the condom aside and runs his fingers through Shane’s hair. He might be almost too horny to think straight, but even in his current state he can tell there's something Shane's not saying. Or several somethings, knowing Shane. “I mean it. I might not be an expert at this, but I think I’m at least a little bit of an expert on _you_. We’re gonna be okay.”

Shane’s brows pinch together. “Are we?”

“Why wouldn’t we be? We’ve made it through all kinds of crazy shit.”

“And you call yourself a pessimist.” Shane smiles faintly. “Seriously, though, less than twenty-four hours ago I thought you only had eyes for Curly and now...” He gestures in a way that Ryan surmises is meant to encompass their nudity, the lube gleaming on Ryan’s thighs, the sudden solemnity this conversation has taken on.

Ryan has the distinct impression he’s missing something. “Are you saying we should slow down? Because that’s fine, we can scale it back. We can just hold hands in the dark and go on bowling dates, I’m cool with that.”

“You’d go bowling again. With _me_?”

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“You always are.” Shane’s mouth seeks his and Ryan lets himself be lulled into the slow, easy rhythm of his kisses. “That’s the thing, Ryan,” Shane murmurs, his sigh brushing Ryan’s cheek like a collapsing wing. “You _always are_. And I’m not.” 

Ryan’s throat contracts. “Oh.”

“Not like that!” Shane says quickly. “I mean that if there’s a chance something might not work out, then I’d rather not take it.” He pulls Ryan close with both hands splayed across his back, fingertips kneading into the muscle there. “But you...you would take it every time.”

There’s a rawness to his voice that makes Ryan’s arms slide around him in turn, holding him like Shane is his last tether to the earth. Shane ducks his face against the juncture of Ryan’s neck and shoulder, so tightly Ryan can barely make out his next words. “I meant everything I said the other night. But I’m seriously, _seriously_ bad at all this. I don’t know how to put myself out there without fucking everything up like a...”

“Like a not-so-stealth bisexual Sasquatch?” Ryan offers gently. 

Shane snorts. “Sure, like that. There are reasons I don’t date much.” 

“Okay,” Ryan says slowly. “To be clear, you’re _not_ saying you want to scale back the sex part, which is awesome. But this isn't just a sex thing, this is an ‘I want you in my life even more than you already are which is seriously insane because we're basically in each other's pockets’...thing.” 

“Exactly.”

Ryan hums. “I can see why that’d be kind of scary. Then again, I’m scared a lot more often than you. You don’t have my conditioning.”

Shane kisses him once more, like it’s just a way of punctuating their conversation. Ryan drifts into it, his hips circling against Shane’s body, mindlessly chasing the thread of pleasure. 

“But you face what you’re scared of anyway,” Shane says, almost as if it’s a lament. His hand is cradling Ryan’s face, his lips brushing his cheek with every word. It makes it impossible for Ryan to catch his eye, but maybe for Shane that’s necessary right now. Maybe that’s what lends Shane the inertia to say this in the first place. “You do it all the time. You’re the bravest scaredy cat I know. ” 

“It gets easier,” Ryan promises, voice soft. His fingers clutch involuntarily at Shane’s back. “Also, you don’t scare me at all, so you’re kind of stuck with me. We’re pretty decent at facing scary stuff together. But this doesn’t have to be one of them.” 

He’s stumbling all over the significance of what he’s trying to say, but it’s true. There aren’t many things that spook Shane, and Ryan never wants to make that list even by association. He wants to have more chances to be good to him, to experience new things with him, to smother him with praise until his ears burn, to ride him like the world’s sluttiest cowboy. He wants Shane to know it’s okay to _want_.

And speaking of want. “Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“I really, _really_ want to sit on your dick. Can we talk more after that?”

Shane barks out a surprised laugh, but Ryan feels the way his cock pulses where they’re pressed together. “Getting psychological in bed really does it for you, huh?”

“ _You_ really do it for me, asshole.”

Shane reaches between them to take Ryan’s balls in one hand, kneading delicately. “If you were a leprechaun, and sometimes I wonder, you could take the comma out of that sentence and it would still make sense.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Ryan wails. “I can’t believe I’m about to let you penetrate me.”

He’s still deliciously slick from the excessive lube, which is very distracting. Shane is still cupping him, his thumb rubbing frictionless circles against his balls. It makes a whimper sneak out of Ryan as he slips the condom over him. Shane has no right to know his body as well as he does.

Settling astride Shane’s hips has them both trembling, he can feel it when he presses a hand to Shane’s chest to steady himself. When he guides the head of Shane's cock against his hole, the whine he utters is so needy it would be embarrassing if Ryan still had space in his brain to process embarrassment.

He lowers himself gradually, feeling it pressing him open a little wider.

“Fuck,” Shane breathes. His hands are tight on Ryan’s hips, his head thrown back to bare the long, inviting line of his throat.

Ryan can't answer that with words. He just lets his head loll forward and bares his teeth and tries to work Shane’s cock deeper inside him. Shane is staring up at him, mouth parted and eyes heavy. Ryan knows he’s taking in the way his thighs flex as he slides down onto him, the way his nipples stand out tight and hard against his chest. "Jesus Christ, Ryan.”

Part of him still doesn't know how the hell they ended up here. For the majority of the time he's considered Shane a friend, Ryan has been so sure he’d never get to have this. He’d spent so much time insisting to Curly that Shane didn't want him, that creating Watcher was more than enough to handle without getting his feelings in the way. It didn't matter how many times Curly reassured him that Shane was too sardonic for his own good, that it was borderline impossible to tell if he was truly interested in someone. Later, he'd worked himself into an internal frenzy over Curly too, not used to keeping any big secrets from Shane other than one. Not sure how the hell to explain how they hooked up over nipple piercing advice that more or less springboarded Curly into being his emotional support as he tried to figure out how to launch a business while being in love with his best friend.

And somehow, in spite of the missed opportunities that have stacked up over the years, it's all led him here. To the knife-sharp gasps he utters as Shane’s cock forces him wide, to the feel of Shane’s long fingers toying with his foreskin, to the lewd slick slap of skin on skin. 

Shane's skin is warm under his palms, a heat Ryan wants to soak in and carry with him forever. Ryan rides him until he’s so glazed with sweat he can feel it dripping down his face.

Shane freezes. “Shit, am I hurting you?” 

Ryan squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head.

“You’re crying.” One of Shane’s hands is brushing his cheek, so tenderly Ryan automatically presses into the touch.

“Am not,” Ryan protests. “I’ve just got a cat allergy and feelings coming out of my eyes.”

It’s hopeless. Shane is already urging him off.

Ryan lets out an unformed sound of loss as Shane’s cock slips out of him, his body desperately trying to tighten around nothing. 

But Shane is still right there with him, laying him down, looking at him with his brow furrowed and his face etched with concern under his flush.

“I’m okay,” Ryan insists. “I’m just...in the moment.” He isn’t lying, but he doesn’t sound convincing even to himself. Fuck, he's going to make Shane shut down and recoil by being an emotional wreck, he can see if happening already. 

Shane doesn't, though. He kisses the words from Ryan’s lips, swipes his thumbs under Ryan’s eyes, and asks, “Should we stop?”

“Fuck. No,” Ryan grits, and then Shane is chuckling against his cheek and sliding back inside him in one full, strong stroke. Pressing his legs back, bending Ryan under him, filling him completely.

Ryan definitely sobs a little.

“Still okay?” Shane is holding him close and soothing him through it. His voice is completely at odds with the strong, inexorable thrusts of his hips that are jarring Ryan up the bed.

“So...fucking... _deep_.” The words sound like they’re being dragged out of him.

Shane’s long fingers find their way into Ryan’s mouth and he sucks without hesitation. 

Then Shane draws them back, leaving a trail a wetness down his chin, and glances a touch against his pierced nipple. Ryan’s cock jerks.

Shane keeps touching him, leaving the piercing glinting wetly from being teased and probed with his spit-damp fingers. It makes Ryan and writhe; he’s still aching from earlier, his nipples all hot and tender from being pinched and sucked and showered with kisses. But the last thing in the world he wants is for Shane to stop. “ _More_ ,” he chokes out, not even sure what he’s asking for.

A tight, strangled sound resonates between them and it takes a moment for him to realize it’s from Shane. “I’m close. I’m gonna... _fuck_ , Ryan, so fucking good, wanna see you come so much. _Please._ ”

His words catch on each other, laced with a desperation Ryan’s never heard from him before. Shane, who never bares too much of his vulnerabilities because it’s easier to act as if they aren’t there. It has to be such an exhausting way to go through life, and he doubts Shane even knows it, he’s been doing it for so long. But he’s laid himself bare for Ryan now, and Ryan cries out his gratefulness as he comes.

The world turns inside out, slipping through his fingers like sand, and all he can do is cling to Shane to keep him from doing the same. Flames curl in his belly, engulfing him with every thrust. When Shane comes, it’s with Ryan’s name on his lips, and the two of them tremble through it together. Ryan’s fingers scrabble for purchase on Shane’s shoulders, his ankles locked behind his back. Latching onto him with all his strength, not ready to let go. Not sure he’ll ever be ready.

When he settles back into himself, it’s with Shane curled around him, their limbs jumbled together.

"Did I hurt you?” Shane is combing careful fingers through his hair. “Be honest."

“I’m sore in the best way,” Ryan mumbles. “And that means I can use it as an excuse for you to do my bidding. Could you grab me a washcloth?”

Somehow, he can feel Shane rolling his eyes. “I might complain about it the whole time, but when do I _not_ do your bidding?

In this case, Shane’s idea of doing his bidding is to grab a shirt off the floor and use it to wipe him clean. 

Ryan’s nose crinkles. “That’s my shirt.”

“Sure is,” Shane chirps, and tosses it in the general direction of his hamper before sprawling half on top of Ryan.“By the way, I’m sure Curly is an amazing teacher, but I think you’ve got some raw talent.”

A near-hysterical laugh bursts out of him. “We practiced. It took a while. I should text him later, just to let him know this turned out okay.”

“Are you and him still gonna be a thing?” Shane asks after a long beat. Some of that familiar guardedness has slipped back into his tone, but he’s doing his best to sound casual. 

“Are you serious? He's our number one hype man. He'll be over the moon when I tell him we finally got it right.” Ryan snuggles in closer. “I want to _be_ with you, you know?”

Shane doesn't spill his soul and Ryan doesn't expect him to. But he looks pleased and he interlinks their fingers and that’s good too. “I’m just thinking about all those times you said you couldn’t meet because you were working out. You didn't say what _kind_ of working out." He gives Ryan an accusatory look. “I thought you were hitting the gym more often. You didn’t say you were doing all this acrobatic boning.”

Ryan scoffs. “Please. It was totally both. I wasn’t about to skip arm day because Curly had to teach me to take dick.” He hums a few bars of “A Whole New World.”

“Did he take you over, sideways, and under on a magic carpet ride?”

“More like original hardwood.”

“Fuck you, get out.”

“You don't really mean that.”

Shane’s shoulders drop. “Yeah, you're right.”

“In fact, I have a theory that you really, really want me to stay.” 

“God help us,” Shane mutters. But he lets Ryan lay his head on his chest and strokes his back until Ryan's more asleep than awake. He's not expecting it when Shane speaks again. “I'm not an easy person to be with. I know you know that already, but I’m going to fuck up hard and I'm going to do it more than once. But I swear, even if doesn't seem like it, I'll be trying to fuck up less.”

Ryan yawns, which probably isn't the most appropriate response, but it’s not his fault Shane’s such a comfortable pillow. “That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“You know me, a regular hopeless romantic,” Shane deadpans.

“Yep, you’re right. I do know you. I'm used to being around you. I let you into my life and my heart and my body and all that crazy stuff. And I’m gonna fuck up too, but I know we’ll get through it. This…” Ryan kisses him,“is pretty much it for me. You're the basket I'm putting all my eggs in.”

“Oviposition, nice,” Shane says, petting his fingers through Ryan’s hair.

“What,” Ryan says blankly.

Shane tips his head up, eyes sparkling. “I'd dump a load of eggs in you too, buddy.”

“Great, glad to hear it. So here's a question for you.” Ryan shifts gears, putting on his most serious expression. He can already see the wariness rise on Shane's face.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think it’s possible to make water-based lube using holy water and demon-proof your ass?” 

Shane stares him dead in the eye and flicks his piercing. 

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Ryan yelps. 

Then he kisses him and doesn't stop. 

Shane pulls him close and Ryan collapses into him all over again. 

There are so many paths opening up before them, so many sinkholes and wrong turns just waiting to be stumbled into. But they have time to learn their way, time to struggle and overcome and face down a thousand other obstacles. They have time, together.

Ryan isn’t afraid. He falls headlong into the first day of many and lets himself be consumed.


End file.
